
Book_i_Giil 






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HISTORIC 
FACTS AND 
FANCIES 




CALIFORNIA 



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Historic Facts 
and Fancies 



History and Landmarks Section 

of California Federated 

Women's Clubs 




O M M 



T E 



MRS. J. A. BUNTING, Centerville 
MRS. J. E. THANE, Niles 
MRS. F. A. STUART, Palo Alto 



Object of Obis J^unb 

To make it possiljlo tnr ivei}- clubwoman, witli time and ability, to 
bold office and to do her best by tbe office; the fund to be used for travel- 
ing expenses of chairmen of committees as voted by the Executive Board. 

daii for Mtaterlal 

California Fkderation of Womkn's Ci-uhs, 

Ckntkrvillk, Cal., February, 1907. 
A book published for a traveling fund of the California I'Y'deration of 
Women's Clubs is an assured fact. If your club has not already sent 
something, will you not consider the matter? Mave you no landmark 
of interest; no history to record? Have you not a man or woman of 
note in your midst? An old pioneer with an experience? Interesting 
finding of mines, gems or Indian relics? 

We have been asked if the book is to be illustrated. Have you a 
l)icture you would like to put in, and would your club be willing to pay 
for the engraving? 

Please act promptly, as we desire to get it in the hands of the pub- 
lishers as soon as possible. 

Fleim O. Bunting, 
Sub-Committee of History and Landmarks. 

TPropl)<icy from d.^. W. <L, ^ear tl^ooK. 1907 

This section is going to become of more importance and value. Our 
history has so many broken threads that we may well join the ends. Think 
how fast our pioneers are going, and with them their wonderful stories. 

History is a deceptive cloth. It lies before us on the everyday counter, 
gray and uninteresting; but. let Time hold it in the distance, give it the 
right shake and lo ! it is before us in beautiful colors, changing from light 
to dark. 

Our Ambition 

To place a neat, entertaining and instructive volume in your hands. 
We give you some honest facts; .some new accounts of old times; legends 
of the past and hopes for the future. We do not aim at the moon; rather 
a modest little star which will shine on antl on, with a light that will 
ai)peal to all whose eyes glance upon it. 

Ob<i3'uture 

On rea<ling this book, many facts will come to your mind that sliouid 
l)e in it. Write them up and send to us th.it we may arrange them for a 
second edition. 

Our Ol^anKs 

To Miss Helen Chandler, who designed our cover; to the clul)women 
who have suggested; The .Sunset Company, who have contributed pictures, 
and the dear pul)lic at large, whom we exjiect will buy. 



V5H 



(Tontents 



PAGE 

Landmarks (First Section) 7 

Some of Our Landmarks Elsinorc Woman s Club 9 

"Signal Hill," Long Beach Ebell Club, Long Beach 10 

Red Mountain Napa Study Club 1 1 

Monterey Los Angeles Ebell 14 

Glass Mountain Napa Study Club 16 

The Palo Alto Tree Woman's Club 17 

From "In Tamal Land" Outdoor Art Club 18 

Marin County and Tamalpais Mill Valley Outdoor Art Club 20 

A Desert Romance Riverside Woman's Club 21 

Extracts from Letter by Albert S. Evans Mill Valley Outdoor Art Club 28 

An Ancient Landmark Wednesday Club, San Diego 31 

San Diego (Poem) W cdnesday Club, San Diego 32 

Pioneers (Second Section) 33 

The Call of the West (Poem) Country Club, Alameda County 34 

Brief Sketch of the Life of a Pioneer Craft Woman's Club 35 

The Female Institute Sa)ita Clara Woinan's Club 37 

A Bit of California Pioneer History Laurel Hall Club 39 

Reminiscences of Early California Life Contemporary Club 40 

California's First American School. .Galpin Sliakespeare Club, Los Angeles 46 

Olive Mann Isbell Current Events Club 50 

One of the Early Schools Country Club, Alameda County 51 

Home of Governor Pio Pico JVoman's fmproi'onent Club 52 

History of Orange County Santa Ana Woman's Club 54 

Oakland from Days of Sir Francis Drake to those of President Roosevelt 

Oakland Club 56 

The Old Bale Mill A'^ti' Century and Napa Study Club 59 

Sketch of John Thomas Reed Outdoor Art Club 62 

Earthquake of 1857 Bakcrsfield Woman's Club 63 

The Gold Find Los Angeles Ebell 64 

Old Colusa Town Contemporary Club 72 

Stanford University Palo Alto Woman's Club 76 

3 



Contents 



A Happy Valley Story San Jose IVoman's Club 

A Short History of San Diego Mothers' Club, San Diego 

A Stor}- of Tom Bell Carrie Stevens Walter 

A Loiulon Bride in California Los Angeles Ebcll 

The White Lady of La Jolla Sa)i Diego Club 

Across the Plains San Jose IVonian's Club 

California Incidents llameda Tea Club 

San Joaquin Rocks Coalinga Improvement Club 

The Old Dominguez Ranch I^itlifiiuicr Club. Cojnpton 

Lost Woman of San Nicholas Island L. G. Yates 

Old Streets of Santa Barbara ITojuan's Club, Carpinteria 

From the State Capital Kingsley Art Club 

Incident of the Flood 

Discovery of Kiuizite San Diego Shakespeare Club 

Indian (Third Section ) 

Indian War of 1856 ]\'omans Club, Bakerstield 

Tehama County Indians Woman's Club, Corning 

The Legend of An-o-hos Young Women's Club, San Jose 

The Napa Indians Napa Club 

True Stories of Pioneer Indian Life Maywood Club 

A Pot of Gold Maywood Club, Corning 

Sebastian Woman's Club, BakersHeld 

Tule Boats Woman's Club, Bakerstield 

When Two Gods Were Worshiped Santa Ana Club 

The Whistle in the Straw (Poem) Mountain I'iew ICoinaji's Club 

A Yoko Inmeral Ceremony. 1866 

The Old Adobe. IV'taluina Woman's Club, Petaluma 

Dolores f'leasant Hour Club 

Anecdotes of the Indians lilsinore Club 

Kah-le-kah ( Blue Lakes) Saturday .Ifternoon Club 



77 
79 
80 
82 

85 
92 
98 

[GO 
102 
[O4 

105 
[06 

I of, 

107 
10c; 

12 

14 
18 
22 

24 
;2(') 

127 

^^ 

'34 

144 

147 




Xist of miustrations 



PAGE 

Cypress Point, Monterey 6 

Mt. Shasta 8 

Red Mountain 12 

Old Customs House 15 

The "Palo Alto" 17 

Mt. Tamalpais 19 

The Old Palms 30 

Mrs. E. P. Robbins Crafts 36 

Female Institute 38 

Glacier Point, Yosemite 55 

The Old Bale Mill 60 

San Juan Capistrano Mission 71 

Vernal Falls, Yosemite 75 

Stanford University 76 

The White Lady of La Jolla 84 

E. B. Crocker JMuseum, Sacramento 96 

The First Confession 97 

Santa Barbara Mission 103 

A Spot, Del Monte 108 

Old Vallejo House 136 

Old Adobe near St. Helena 136 

Cliff Dwellers 146 

Nevada Falls, Yosemite 149 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




C^■I>R1■.SS POINT, MOXTERi:V 



1Lan6mark5 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




Some of Our CandmarKs 



Elsinore Woman's Club. 



ALIFORNIA, the Golden State, has combined within herself the 

various beauties of the other States. Her picturesque mountains 

rise like quaint castles with turrets and towers, or like some giant 

fortress with walls of defense. Her extent of desert has hidden 

for centuries priceless gold mines. Her great length of coast 

line is washed by the ever-restless waters of the grand Pacific 

Ocean. The verdure of the landscape, so restful to the eye, is 

preserved by the rivers, brooks, and springs of clear, running 

water. The ever-growing fruits and flowers enhance the attractions. The bright 

sunshine, the soft, clear moonlight, the invigorating sea-breeze and the pure air 

make it a haven of rest to invalids and those in declining years. 

That climate! Who can fitly describe it? It must be known to have its 
merits realized. 

We will begin with the northern part of the State. Mount Shasta crowns 
it right nobly, with her everlasting snow-capped summit. Lake Tahoe is a 
sapphire set in green. Yosemite, so vast in extent, so wonderful in eflfects, 
can not be pictured so that justice is done to it. No traveler has ever been 
disappointed in it. It is the pride, not alone of the State, but of the nation. 
The renowned Calaveras trees, largest in the world ; San Francisco Bay, with 
its three great arms extending far inland ; Seal Rock ; the different islands, 
and Golden Gate, entrance to the fine harbor and city, are Nature's own handi- 
work and wonderful landmarks. Golden Gate Park, Sutro Heights, and 
Cliff House are works of nature and art combined. Mount Tamalpais is noted 
for its unique railroad and wonderful view. Mount Hamilton Observatory 
is world-renowned. Mount Diablo is striking in shape, if not so tall as 
others. The beautiful Santa Clara Valley; the Sacramento River and Valley; 
the Geysers and hot springs ; Monterey Bay and surroundings, cited in art 
and history ; Santa Cruz Bay, landlocked with beautiful mountains and big 
trees, are indeed landmarks to be proud of. The great deserts have their 
attractions and interest — the odd shades, and cacti, sage-brush and grease- 
wood. Los Angeles River and region, with beautiful, dark-green orange 
orchards. Mount Lowe and Mount Wilson are huge monuments, indeed. The 
San Gabriel hills and valley frame a charming picture. 

Next, we see San Pedro harbor. Point Fermin, and Santa Catalina Island. 
At last, we come to San Diego, with another fine harbor overlooked by Point 
Loma ; her strange valleys and deep canon. 

From San Francisco to San Diego, the famous old missions point to 
early history and are lasting landmarks. All along the coast we find the 
lighthouses flashing their warning light. 

The long Coast Range and the Sierra Nevadas extend from one end to 
the other of the State. 

These are a few of our landmarks. 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




"Signal Tfill/'TCong :^eacl) 

From Ehcll Club of Long Beach, California. 

IXK of it! In 1850 there was not a lighthouse north of the 
e(|uator on the Pacific coast of America ! The gold-seekers had 
been coming "round the Horn" and across the Isthmus of 
I'anama ever since that day in January, 1848, when Marshall 
found the yellow grains at Sutter's Mill. It was in 1850 that 
the authorities at Washington sent out the first Geodetic Coast 
Survey to the Pacific Coast. Its members were (leorge David- 
son, James Lawson, Alexander Harrison, and John Rockwell — 
young fellows, all, just out of college, coming to the West across the Isthmus 
As they sailed north, the captain of the ship, having learned their business, urged 
them to begin the lighthouse survey at Point Concepcion, as it was the most 
dangerous point on the Coast, and, besides, was located incorrectly on the sea- 
men's charts. The following facts are from the statements of Mr. Rockwell, who 
had charge of the expedition : 

.\s soon as the party reached San Francisco, they asked whether it would 
be better to go to Point Concepcion by land or by water. "Certainly woX by 
land," thev were told ; "there is no trail to that point and no record of an3'body 
who ever has wanted to go there." In fact, everybody had made it a matter 
of business to keep as far out at sea, in passing the Point, as possible. Just 
as the party were about to conclude that they must make a trail if they 
reached the dangerous point, there sailed into Golden Gate Harbor the ■"Durn- 
ham," running between San Pedro and San Francisco; her captain was James 
Green. The United States Collector of the Port of San Francisco joined the 
Coast Survey men in urging Captain Green to carry them to Concepcion. 
"Well," said the captain, "I'll tell ye what I'll do. If we get along the Point 
in daylight, and the sea's a-runnin' smooth and no sou'easter blowin", I'll land 
ye ; otherwise, I'll carry ye down to San Pedro, fetch ye back, land ye at the 
Point, if I can, or else fetch ye here to San Francisco again, and I'll charge ye 
$1,200.00 for yourselves and your luggage." 

With these conditions, the party agreed to comply, and the skillful 
captain landed them safely at Point Concepcion in July, 1850. Such w'as the 
beginning of the Coast Survey work in the north of our State. 

It was in 1853 that the party found themselves at San Pedro, where they 
had gone to establish a point for a base-line that should serve for the 
triangulation of the Coast. It was while engaged in this work that Mr. 
Rockwell first came to the site of "Long Beach," then one vast plain covered 
with grazing horses and cattle. Mr. Rockwell decided to i)lace the first signal- 
pole for the work of triangulation at the top of a hill about three miles from 
the present town. The camp of the surveyors was twenty-five miles distant 
from this hill, but a cart and oxen were hired from a Si)aniar(l living on the 
San Gabriel River, and the i)arty started from cam]) with a forty-foot pole and 
a granite block eighteen inches long and six inches scpiare, both l)rought from 
San Francisco, besides the tools and instruments necessary to do the work. 
The oxen rebelled against climbing the steep, unbroken way up the hill, and 
it required more than moral suasion to persuade them that the rough experi- 
ences of United States surveyors were good enough for oxen and that they 
must "get there," which they did. 

10 



Historic Facts a i2 d Fancies 



The granite stone was buried, with its top just showing above the 
ground, and above this was erected the signal-pole. A fence was built around 
it, as a protection from cattle, and on the pole was placed a placard made of 
strong cloth, on which was printed: "This is the property of the United 
States Government." 

The beautiful hill thus received its name. "Signal Hill," within the 
memory of the people of the present prosperous city of Long Beach. It was 
in 1905 that Mr. Rockwell came again to the Pacific Coast. One day, he 
climbed to the top of Signal Hill to see what was left of his work in 1853. 
The fence and the signaf-pole, with its placard, had wholly disappeared, but 
the stone was there, and there it remains to mark the first work of the United 
States Government in that part of its splendid possessions, w^hich now forms 
the County of Los Angeles. 




^e6 fountain 

A Forgotten Tragedy, Napa Study Club. 

HIS mountain, capped with the everlasting snows, rises above his 
companions. His sides clothed in the deep dark green of the pine, 
fir, and spruce, he stands, a mighty sentinel, guarding the secret 
of the treasure hidden in his bosom. Suddenly, one bright day 
in June, in the later sixties, two prospectors surprised him. Near 
his base they camped, with the outfit a prospector carries on his 
back. Scrambling part way up his side, holding on by scrub- 
oak and chaparral, one carrying a pick, the other a shovel, they 
found a little shelf where they could stand without toppling over. Here the 
pick and shovel made the first scar from the hand of man on Red Mountain, 
christened, then and there, from the soil thrown out by the shovel. All 
through the summer they toiled early and late. Once in two weeks one of 
them would visit the nearest town, about eight miles distant, to buy food — a 
difiicult tramp through the deep dark canons, a blazed trail being the only 
guide. 

When the snow began to fly the men feared another fall would shut them 
in for the winter and for all time, so they packed their outfit in the tunnel, 
covered the entrance with brush, and placed there a board with their names 
and their claim to the mine. Then, each shouldering a sack of ore, they made 
their way to the town, recording with the superintendent of mining records 
that Eric Ericson and Peter Peterson, of Upsala, Sweden, declared their 
intention of becoming citizens of the United States, and claimed that portion 
of land they had staked out on Red Mountain. The men now went to "the 
bay," as the mountain people then called San Francisco, and securing rooms 
in the outskirts of the city, brought their boxes from a warehouse. 

Red Mountain had revealed a portion of his secret to these students from 
the University of Upsala, but only a portion. The ore they carried from the 
tunnel was like none they had ever seen. All winter they wrestled with the 
secret. They hammered and pulverized the ore, roasted it, mingled it with 
all the chemicals their school had taught them were necessary for assaying,, 
then tried experiments of their own. The dark, shining ore sometimes 
showed traces of iron and lead, then nickel or cobalt, or iridium, and always 



II 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



arsenic, but the gold refused to part company with its ncighljors, and dched 
the assayer's power. 

When the bright sun of another June melted the snow from the base of 
Red Mountain the Swedish students made up their packs, and started for 
their tunnel, in nowise dismayed by their year of work and failure. Pete, as 
his companion called him, tall, dark and strong, took the lead, while Eric, 
slight and thin, with tawny hair, lagged behind, noticing every shrub and 
tree, rock and stone, talking of ore and ledges and outcrop, vein, and wall- 
rock — he, being the geologist, had located the lode on Red Mountain. These 
men were not ignorant miners who dug anywhere, and called it luck when 
they struck a "pocket" and "hard luck" when "pockets" were few and far 
between. 

About a w'eek after their return to the mountain, wlien their dump 
showed a goodly pile of the glistening ore. they were surprised, one evening, 




RED MOUNTAIN. 



to hear a shout, and looking down saw, coming out of the canon, a party of 
men, who quickly scattered over the mountainside and staked out claims 
similar to their own. The Swedes had told no one of their mine and made 
their record as quietly as possible, but the old miner easily scents a new 
digging. The great heap of the dark, shining ore caused great excitement, 
and then ensued a regular California stampede. The very birds of the air 
seemed to carry news of the new camp to the distant diggings. Men who had 
paying claims abandoned them for the uncertainty of the new, which might 
prove fabulously rich. In a short time a thousand meji were in the canon 
and swarming over the face of Red Mountain. Numerous veins were struck, 
all belonging to the mother lode, and soon heaps of the dark ore glistened 
in the sunshine on Red Mountain. 

As the camp needed the necessaries of life a route was surveyed to the 
mountain town, and a trail was made along the mountainsides and through 
the canons, bringing Red Mountain into communication with the outside 
world. The pack-mules brought some of the comforts of life, a few cabins 
were built, and the miners prepared to spend the winter ii 'le snow. The 
Swedes brought u]) their assayer's outfit and did a thrixing business. Some 
of the miners sent specimens of "rich rock" to assay ers in San l-^rancisco, but 

12 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



all efforts brought only the result of the year before. The gold was there but 
refused to be reduced, was in fact "refractory." 

The second year, the trail was crowded with trafific. Lumber was 
brought, houses were built, furniture and all that could be desired in a thriving 
town followed. A large boarding-house was built, there was a store, a post- 
of^ce, a blacksmith's shop for sharpening the miners' tools, and the inevitable 
saloon and dance house. Prices were fabulous, and the man with the pack- 
mule made the money. Letters and newspapers were worth twenty-five cents 
apiece brought over the trail, and weightier articles in an ever-ascending 
scale of prices, but the miner buys what he wants while his money lasts. 
Another season of brisk activity in the camp, a winter in the snow, a summer 
of piling the dark, glistening ore upon the dumps, and Red Mountain still 
guarded his secret. When the snow came again, Pete said he and Eric 
must go to the city to earn some money, for their supply would not last 
through another season ; but Eric refused to leave the camp, and Pete went 
to earn the supplies for another year. About half of the men in the camp 
had grown discouraged by this time, and went out, leaving everything except 
what they could carry. When Pete returned in June, he found Eric as hopeful 
as ever. The far-away look in his clear blue eyes told of secret vigils ; while 
others slept, he had struggled with the secret of the mountain. All the other 
men were so discouraged that they worked in a half-hearted way through the 
brief summer, and when the snow began to hide the trail, all but Eric were 
ready to march out. Pete pleaded with him to go to the city, promising to 
return in the spring, but Eric refused, saying, "Red Mountain will tell me his 
secret when I am alone with him," So Pete and the other men went over the 
trail, casting many sad glances back at Eric standing in the sun, waving his 
hat, his tawny hair lighted up like an aureole. The deserted camp, who can 
picture it? Men simply put on their hats and went with a handful of clothes 
on their arm. The houses, with all the furniture, and stores, that had cost 
such outlay to bring over the trail, the boarding-house, with beds made and 
table set, the remnants of the last meal left upon it — all were left. 

Eric collected food and fuel in his house close to his beloved tunnel, 
with a covered way between, so that he could visit it at any time. Here he 
passed the long eight months of winter, with his books, his chemicals and 
retort, his crucibles and fluxes, but Red Mountain still kept the secret of his 
gold. When Pete came over the trail in June, Eric was well-nigh frenzied 
with joy to see him, but was pale and thin from his long, lonely winter. 
He improved visibly every day through the summer. When winter came 
Pete again went to the city, leaving Eric, who refused to go. For ten weary 
years they lived in this way, Eric never leaving the mountain which held such 
fascination for him, Pete going to the city every winter, to earn a livelihood 
for both. Eric grew thinner and paler every year, yet worked with his 
chemicals, living on hope, the "Will-o'-the-wisp" ever beyond his grasp. Pete 
had long ago given up the hopeless task of reducing the refractory ore, but his 
love for Eric held him faithful to his friend. The deserted village grew more 
dilapidated, and the weaker houses were crushed by the heavy snows, and fell 
one by one, burying their contents. 

When Pete returned the tenth year, he gave his usual loud halloo as he 
came around the shoulder of the mountain, but no voice answered him ; no 
thin figure with tawny hair came down the trail to meet him. "It has come 
at last," he said. Every year he feared his friend would have passed the 
bars of hope and entered the land of full fruition. No motion or sign of 
life in all the village greeted him. With shrinking heart he hurried to the 

13 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



house at the tunncrs mouth, and entering^, saw Eric sittin_i^ at the table, 
shrunken to a shadow, l)ut with the bright light of hoi)e realized in his eyes. 
He gasped out, "I have found the secret!" and. with a f|ui\ering sigh, his 
head fell upon his breast. Pete sprang to him and laid him down gently, but 
life was extinct. With the joy of hope fulfilled, and the return of his friend, 
his strong spirit burst from its frail tenement. When Pete had recovered a 
little from the shock of his friend's death, he examined the cupels upon the 
table, and in one was a tiny button of pure gold, but no written formula could 
he find, though he searched long and diligently. 

After long years Red Mountain had re\-ealed his secret only to Eric, and 
Eric carried it with him. His lonely grave, Pete made on Red Mountain. 
No monument could he bring to mark his friend's resting-place, but he 
piled it high with the glittering ore, then left the deserted mine, to return no 
more. Red JNIountain, scarred upon his side, tunneled to his heart, a de- 
serted village crumbling at his base, his shining ore covering the lonely grave 
of one who loved him well, still guards his secret. 





^J 


^Sm 


^M 


l/pBj 


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m 



Los Angeles Ebell. 

TSTORIC old Monterey! How much of interest clusters about 
this old town! So man}- of the ])eginnings of this State trans- 
l)ired here. It is not our object to give a detailed account. l)ut 
just to touch upon a few interesting points. 

The town of Monterey was founded June 3, 1770, when the 
i""ranciscan Fathers landed, gathering all under an oak. erect- 
ing an altar and cross. It was here they chanted the first 
mass; the first funeral was lield after this service and the burial 
was at the foot of the cross. 

The Spanish and ^Mexicans held sway in California from 1602 to 1846. 
It was July 7 of the latter year that Commodore Sloat arrived in ^Monterey 
Ba}'. and raised the American flag upon the old custom-house, amid the cheers 
of citizens and the booming of cannon. 

Walter Colton, chaplain of the frigate '"Congress," in 1846, was a])])ointed 
alcalde (mayor), holding the ofifice for three years, and becoming a prominent 
figure in the affairs of INIonterey. He, with others, established tlie Califoniian, 
the first newspaper published in the State, appearing August 15, 1846. The 
paper used for ])rinting the edition was intended to be used in the manufacture 
of cigaritos and was not larger than a sheet of legal cap. The type had 
been picked out of an old office that had formerly printed Roman Catholic 
tracts in Spanish. The paper was a success and gained a large circulation. 
It was afterwards absorbed by the Alta-Califovnian in San Francisco. 

]Mr. Colton summoned the first jury empaneled in California, September 
4, 1846. The first brick house built in California stands near the custom- 
house, a two-story dwelling. 

The first narrow-gauge railroad in tlie State was built here in 1874, by 
the people, connecting the Salinas \'allev with Monterey, where there was a 
safe harbor with ample shipping facilities. 

The first theater built in California still stands near the custom-h(^use, a 

14 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



long, low adobe structure. The first performance took place at the time 
Stevenson's regiment of New York Volunteers was disbanded in 1849, the 
ex-soldiers being the actors. The posters were printed with blacking-pot and 
brush and the programs were written. 

Historic Monterey has figured more extensively in picture, romance, 
poetry, and song than any other city in the Union. It has been the residence 
of many renowned artists and men of letters. The panels and doors of their 
place of social reunion were often decorated with choice bits of painting and 
verses of rare beauty and composition, some of which yet remain and are 
visited by the traveler of the present time. The trite sayings of Mark 
Twain and lines of Bret Harte. or Robert Louis Stevenson, are forcibly 
brought to mind by visits to the old town. 




OLD CUSTOMS HOUSE, MONTEREY 



Monterey is rich in legends which cling fondly around the old adobes. 
One most interesting is that concerning Lieutenant W. T. Sherman, after- 
wards General W. T. Sherman, who was stationed here in 1846. He became 
much attached to a pretty Spanish scilorita, and, the attachment being mutual, 
they spent many happ}^ houfs together under sunny skies. When he was 
ordered East, in bidding his fiancee adieu, they plucked a twig together from 
a "cloth-of-gold" rose growing in the senorita's garden, and planting the twig 
there, plighted their vows to each other "until death do us part." The under- 
standing was, that when the rose put forth its first blossoms. Lieutenant Sher- 
man was to return to Monterey and claim his betrothed, and so long as they 
were separated from each other, neither must marry. Years passed by. The 
rose-bush flourished and blossomed, twining its beautiful branches around 
the latticed arbor and creeping along the old adobe wall, until it fell to the 
ground in heaps of sweet-blown roses ; but the general never returned, and 
the pretty sehorita, remaining true to her word, lived on behind the adobe 
wall, with but a recollection of a sweetly cherished dream, and today the 
interested tourist sees the fallen blossoms which represent the blighted hopes 
of a trusting heart of long ago. 

Among the ancient pines, the world-famous Hotel del Monte stands, — 
"Hotel in the Forest." A lovely drive leads to the grand old live-oaks, past 
Moss Beach, where the crash of the breakers never ceases ; the cry of the seals 
upon Seal Rock and the shriek of the watchful gulls are in the air. 

15 



Historic Facts and Fancies 

Here is found that wonderful grove of trees, the Cedars of Lebanon, 
hoary with age, yet indescribably mystic and charming. They are found 
nowhere else in all the world but in the Vale of Lebanon. 

"Out of the hoary vista, 

Through a mist of silent tears, 
An ancient City rises. 

Graj- witli the wciglit of years. 

"And by the crescent winding 
Of her calmly sheltered bay. 
She guards her fond traditions — 
Grand Old Monterey! " 



(Blass Mlountain 




Napa Study Club. 

OUNT SAINT HELENA, at the head of Napa Valley, is an 
extinct volcano, and the range of hills bordering the I'alley on 
the east is of volcanic origin. Near the town of Saint Helena 
rises a rounded peak that seems to be entirely separated from 
the near-by hills, but a closer inspection shows a low ridge 
with a gentle slope that connects it with the range. It rises 
about three hundred feet above the valley, its form a perfect 
"sugar-loaf," its steeply sloping sides clothed in perpetual 
green. The pines and redwood, the madrona, manzanita, and chamisal 
in their blended tints are a delight to the eye, and in the springtime the blossoms 
send forth an odor like that of the Elysian fields. A tiny rivulet circles the base 
of the hill, and a gaze into its clear depths gives a hint of the origin of (ilass 
Mountain. Huge blocks of lava lie below the water, seamed and worn, striated 
and laminated, all their form telling of their fiery origin. We climb the hillside 
to a bare space and find why Glass Mountain received its name before the white 
man set foot in Napa Valley. A vast bed of volcanic ashes is strewn with glitter- 
ing glass of black, brown, and gray tints, the black color largely predominating. 
This volcanic glass is technically called obsidian. Here the Indian tribes resorted 
in certain seasons to camp in the valley, while the experts in making arrow and 
spear points renewed the supply for the hunting season. ]m])erfect specimens 
may yet be found that were cast aside by the workmen, and broken ones abound, 
but perfect arrow-points that once were abundant in the valley and the hills are 
now very rare. About a quarter of a century ago a lone Indian came to Glass 
Mountain for the last time to make arrow-points, and the lost art vanished with 
him. Vast quantities of the glass yet remain, broken pieces shownng a glistening 
surface. Others are perfectly coated with the ashes in which they fell when 
hurled from the crater. Some of these large pieces when broken open show a 
mass of fine threads, as though just spun by the glass-blower. Glass ^Mountain 
is not unknown to scientists, and some of its best specimens have been sent East 
to be made into microscopic slides. 



i6 



Historic Facts and F 



a n c I e s 



Ol)e Jpalo Alto iDxdd 



Woman's Club. 



'^^M 


i 




?.; fe^^l)'-' 





HE picture accompanying this article represents the "Palo 
Alto," or high tree, for which the town of Palo Alto has been 
named. It is a sequoia scnipcri'ircns, one of the giant redwood 
trees peculiar to California, and only exceeded in size by the 
sequoia gii:;aiitea, or big trees of the State. 

The following sketch was written by Prof. Emory E. 
Smith and published in the Sequoia, a magazine issued by the 
students of Stanford University. 
"In 1849 the whole country from San Jose to Port Suelo (the point near 

San Francisco from which both the ocean and bay can be seen) was covered 

with wild oats and was a veritable paradise for the herds and flocks which 

roamed over it at will. In those days, as there were no fences to obstruct, people 

often traveled as much by landmarks as by roads and trails. A noted landmark, 

two lone redwood trees, stood in the valley about thirty-three miles from San 

Francisco, and seventeen miles from San Jose, on the south bank of the San 

Francisquito Creek, which was then the 

boundary line between San Francisco and 

Santa Clara counties. These trees, which were 

known by travelers as the 'Palos Colorados' 

( the red trees ) , towered far above the live 

oaks which numerously dotted the valley, and 

on clear days could be seen from San Jose and 

from Rincon Hill, San Francisco. 

"With the exception of a group of five or 

six smaller trees, which stood on the Mesa 

ranch farther down the creek, these were the 

only redwoods growing in the valley ; but back 

in the foot-hills, near what is known as Sears- 

ville (the Maximo Martinez ranch) and upon 

the mountain sides, there was a noble forest of 

giant growth, only the timewbrn stumps and 

second growth of which now remain. These 

noble trees were, for the most part, cut in 

1849-50 by Edward A. T. Gallagher, who 

established two camps, one in the bottom of 

the Canada del Raymundo, the other on the 

flank of the mountain. About one hundred 

and fifteen men were employed in these camps, 

rip])ing out lumber with whipsaws to be 

hauled to Embarcadero — now Redwood City 

— for shipment by water to San Francisco or 

by wagon trains to San Jose. Two men were 

constantly employed in packing deer down 

from the mountains to supply the larder of 

the camps. 

"About one-third of a mile above where 

the Stanford mansion now stands (the Roderi- 

guez rancho) and opposite the present site of the "palo alto. 

17 




Historic Facts and Fancies 



Cedro cottage, there stood a small adobe house, wliich was known as the 'doubling- 
up station' by the teamsters. The ruins of this house are still visible in the field, 
protected by a low fence. A single load would be brought from the hills to 
this point. Two hill loads were then put together and hauled to San Jose. Some 
of the lumber cut in these camps was used in erecting the first capitol building 
in San Jose. 

"On account of the difficulties of the season and high-ruling prices, it cost 
$700 per thousand feet and $150 per thousand feet for hauling it to San Jose. 
Ordinarily lumber cost $150 per thousand feet in the woods. Several times the 
lumber-men were about to cut down the Palos Colorados. the lone redwood trees 
previously referred to, from which the famous Palo Alto ranch has derived its 
name ; but one thing and another hindered. The trees, however, would surely 
have been cut, to save hauling, had not the Argonaut fleet arrived from New 
England early in 1850, with lumber brought around the Horn. Prices were 
so reduced by the throwing of this lumber on the market that the camps were 
broken up. 

"In 1864 a railroad was completed to San Jose by H. W. Newhall and the 
late Peter Donohue. This road ran close to the Palos Colorados. Since then 
one of the trees has been uprooted by the encroachment of the creek and has 
been removed, and almost under the branches of the one lonely tree has risen a 
wonderful modern landmark in learning — the Leland Stanford Jr. University. 




Trom **Ur Oamal Can6" 

Outdoor Art Club. 

W'lXG to the widely scattered population in the northern part 
of Alarin county, this section is, consequently, wilder and more 
natural in appearance than the southern half. Lying at the 
base of a range of high hills, which slope somewhat abruptly 
to the ocean, is the most interesting natural phenomenon in 
this region. 

This is a chain of sparkling lakes, three in number, which, 
at first view on descending the precipitous roadway, seem to 
be connected with the ocean, so near its edge do they appear. 

Upon close approach, however, we discovered them to be of fresh water, 
and at an elevation of nine hundred feet above sea level, but their proximity 
to the ocean and the cavernous inlets opening from the sea would intimate their 
former connection. On the shore of the largest of these, Shafter Lake, is located, 
amid the luxuriant copsewood, the Point Reyes Sportsmen's Club House. As 
the lakes are stocked with black bass, landlocked salmon, and various kinds of 
trout, the angler is a familiar figure in the vicinity; and the abounding deer, quail, 
ducks, and snipe, attract the huntsman, while the beauty of these unique lakes 
and their picturesque environs, though little known to the general public, induce 
many a local pedestrian to take the twelve-mile tramp from Olema, through the 
forests, over the steep ridges, and down among the chamisal and sage-brush to this 
ocean retreat. 

Some four miles northwest of the lakes a narrow valley, lined by massive 
barren hills, winds its way to the Pacific. Mammoth oaks adorn its wild and 
tangled glades, huge redwoods lift their lofty tops to the sky, while ferns and 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



trailing vines festoon the banks and rocks with such kixuriance that the whole 
seems a riot of contending greens. 

Winding in and out like a silver thread among the stately trees and saplings 
is a little stream which fills the air with freshness and the cadence of a song, while 
hanging in fantastic, airy festoons from the trees which look in consequence like 
bearded Druids, covering trunks and branches, spreading its delicate traceries 
on the rocks, and abounding on every conceivable object are such masses of 
vari-colored moss that one would feign exclaim, "Surely this should be called 
Moss, not Bear, Valley !" for while the latter roving inhabitants have long since 
disappeared, the former is, and will no doubt remain, in evidence until the forest 
is no more. 




MT. TAMALPAIS. 



It is necessary to see this valley in order to comprehend its beauty. One 
can drive through its cool depths on a finely graded road, amid thousands of 
majestic trees, while here and there an open space reveals the sunlight and the 
blue sky overhead in contrast with the dim, uncertain light pervading its woodland 
stretches. No lover of the beautiful can regret a jaunt to this delightful spot, 
for the charm and witchery of its unique beauty remain in the memory long after 
the excursion is a thing of the past ; even as the perfinne of a rose remains after 
the flower has faded. The sole habitation in Bear Valley, located in a charming- 
sunny exposure with imposing trees and garden surrounding it, is the Country 
Club, famous in local circles. 

The deep baying of hounds from their extensive kennels forms the only dis- 
cordant note in the valley, reminding one that even near to nature's heart man's 
inherent primitiveness asserts itself. If when wandering in these woodland 

19 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



fastnesses, men would hunt the wild creatures with a camera it would require 
greater patience, skill, and acumen than making the ground wet with the hlood 
of fawns and quail. But "civilization has ever developed the physical and the 
intellectual at the expense of the psychic, the humane, and the spiritual." 

Notwithstanding its small area, innumerable excursions offer themselves to 
the ambitious tourist in Marin, while the diversity of its surface and climate, 
and the ease w^ith which one can explore its remaining primeval stretches, make 
this tiny northern peninsula a necessary adjunct to San Francisco, which, with 
its ever-increasing population, needs an outlet for recreation, relaxation, and 
repose. 




^tlarin (TourIy an6 Oamalpais 

As read before Mill \^alley Outdoor h\i Club on Marin County Day. 

ARIN COUNTY receives its name from the most famous chief of 
the Sacatuit Indians. These Indians originally occupied this 
part of California and their chief, Marin, after having beaten the 
Spaniards several times between the years 1815 and 1824. was 
finally taken prisoner by them. He escaped and fled to a little 
island in San Francisco Bay and from there to the mainland that 
now bears his name. Here he was protected by the priests at 
San Rafael Mission. He died at this mission in 1834. 
The first visitor to Marin county was Sir Francis Drake, who made his 
voyage of discovery into the Pacific in 1578. Seeking a northern passage back to 
England, he found the weather too severe when about the fortieth parallel, so 
turned about and sailed south, determining to enter the first good harbor. This 
proved to be Drake's Bay, in the northern part of the county. It is unimportant 
except as the historic landing place of this famous navigator. He entered the 
harbor in the vessel called the "Golden Hind," and named the whole land New 
Albion because its white cliffs and general appearance resembled the coast of 
England. There is an old Indian legend to the effect that Drake presented the 
Indians with a dog, some pigs, also seeds, and several species of grain ; some bis- 
cuits also were given to them, which they planted, thinking they would produce 
similar bread. They also tell that many of Drake's men deserted him here, and 
became amalgamated with the natives. All traces of them are lost, however, 
except a few names that seem purely Celtic in their origin, such Winnemucca, 
Nicasio, and Novate. Drake lay thirty-six days at anchor and on the twenty- 
second of July, 1587, sailed away on further voyages of discovery. A chair was 
made from the w'ood of the "Golden Flind" in after years and presented by 
Charles IV to the Oxford University. 

About the time San Francisco Alission Dolores was established, in 1776, a 
party of Spaniards, in quest of discoveries arrived at Olompati, near the Sonoma 
line, and were kindly received by the natives, who had a large rancheria. They 
in turn taught the Indians the art of building and adobe brick-making. These 
Indians built an adobe house which stands near Dr. Burdell's residence on the old 
I'etaluma road. It was sixteen by twenty feet, with walls eight feet high and 
three feet thick, thatched with tules. and had a hole in the roof for smoke to 
escape. They built another adobe building near-by. which is still standing. This 
smaller one was l)uilt by the father of Camillo Ynita, the last chief of the tribe. 

20 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



To Marin county, therefore, belongs the honor of having the first dvvelhng-house 
in Cahfornia north of San Francisco Bay. 

The township of Sausahto and the region of Tamalpais is the most rugged 
as well as the most beautiful section of the county and was the first to be settled 
by English-speaking people. 

The crowning point of interest in our county is Mt. Tamalpais, which stands 
so majestically overlooking the ocean, the wonderful San Francisco Bay, and 
the beautiful county round about it. On the eastern slope of Tamalpais are found 
veins of quartz, but there are not enough to pay to work it. The summit was once 
a quartz claim. 

There are quite a few derivations of the name Tamalpais. One authority 
says it is a compound word, belonging to the Aztec — Tamal meaning a dough 
made of cornmeal enclosing a piece of meat, a sort of dumpling ; pais a region of 
country ; thus put together we have dumpling land. Another authority says it 
derives its name from the Nicasio Indians, Tamal — coast, pais — mount; thus, 
coast mountain. The following legend is given by Jacob Leese, who surveyed 
this region and was assisted by the old chief, Marin, and some of his tribe. Leese 
wanted to establish a point on the top of the mountain and wished Marin and 
others to go up with him. They objected as they believed the top to be inhabited 
by evil spirits. Leese went alone and to leave some mark to prove to the Indians 
that he had reached the summit he put a large log across a bare tree, thus form- 
ing a cross easily seen from below. Marin did not wish his people to think him 
less brave than the white man, so against their earnest entreaties, decided to go 
up. He was clothed in duck trousers and a red flannel shirt. Upon reaching 
the top he reluctantly hung his shirt on Leese's cross so his people could see it. 
When he returned without it they thought that surely the evil spirits had robbed 
him, but pointing out to them, with becoming pride, his shirt waving on the 
cross, much joy was expressed by them and they thought him braver than ever. 



^ iDesert !^omance 

Founded Upon Facts. 

Riverside Woman's Club. 

"O love, what hours were thine and mine 
In lands of palm and southern pine!" 

was December at Palm Springs — December with its roses and 
chrysanthemums in full bloom. Through wide open doors and 
windows the morning sunshine streamed aslant, while out on the 
veranda the humming birds were dipping into honeysuckle and 
flowering jasmine. 

The air was balmy, and Keith Stanbury drew in a deep, full 
breath as he surveyed his surroundings. 

He had come here searching for health — not that he looked 
upon himself as an invalid, but he had had a long illness from the efifects 
of which he had never quite recovered, and the doctors had recommended a 
change of climate. Palm Springs would do wonders for him, but he must go at 
once, there was no time to lose. So Keith Stanbury, only son and heir prospective 
to a princely fortune, took a somewhat hasty leave of his San Francisco friends 
and turned his face to the desert — the grim and grisly Colorado, on whose border 
lay Palm Springs. 

21 




Historic Facts and Fancies 



A veritable oasis he found it, shut in by luxuriant cottonwoods and i;iant 
pahns. and never a cloud was seen save for the few that tloated like a misty veil 
over the snow-crowned heights of San Jacinto. 

In this dry, health-giving atmosphere he would gain new life, new strength, 
so he confidently hoped. Keith was always hopeful, and from the first wrote the 
cheeriest of letters to his father. Colonel Stanbury. Going into exile was a new 
cx]-)erience. but he made the best of it, and met his fate with seemingly careless 
mien. Not one to bemoan the inevitable was Keith. 

Meanwhile, he created quite a sensation at Palm Springs. The slow-going 
desert settlement looked on in wonder when it saw the beautiful house he was 
building — a house with wide projecting eaves and cobblestone pillars, with stables, 
and reservoirs adjoining, gardens and trellised walks. Evidently the young man 
had come to stay, and re])orts without number were afloat concerning the elegant 
furnishings, and the troops of servants that had arrived — a coachman, a valet, 
a housekeeper, a cook, and a landscape gardener to make the grounds a veritable 
fairyland. 

There was more or less bustle about the house this morning, and a general 
air of preparation as for expected guests. The "Princess" was coming tonight, 
and at the thought his pulses quickened. There were others, too, a dozen or more, 
so his father had written — coming in a private car from San Francisco. 

He looked at his watch and began counting the hours — six — seven, eight 
at the longest, before he should see her and look once more into her dear eyes. 
Did she dream how^ he had hungered for the sight of her lovely face — the touch 
of her hand? Doubtless not, for they had parted with light words, and since 
then there had been silence — the silence of eight long months. 

Indirectly he had heard from her, and once she had sent him a message, her 
kind regards — and the hope that he would soon recover. 

He had felt a new buoyancy of spirits after that. He would get well soon, 
yes, so that he might return quickly to his home, his friends and to lovely 
Geraldine St. Clair! Would night never come? An interminable day it seemed 
to Keith. 

l<'ar off he heard at last the engine's whistle. His friends were almost here ; 
and with a smile he wondered what their impression would be when the car 
slowed up at that desert station miles away. 

"A beastly place !" Jack Foster would call it. He himself had muttered some 
such term, when first he gazed on the dull adobe buildings, and the desolate 
wastes beyond. But Palm S])rings was diff'erent — yes, ([uite dift'erent, as his 
friends would soon learn ! 

It was dusk when the i)arty arrived, and every window of the Stanbiu-y 
house was agleani with light. The great hall door swung o])en and in a moment 
more Keith, with outstretched hand, was bidding them welcome to his desert 
lodge. 

"So glad to see you, old boy. W^e've coiue — not exactly to ])aint the town 
carmine, but to give you a rousing good house-warming," was Hal Benedict's 
deep-voiced greeting. Then came his father's warm hand-clasp, and then portly 
]\Irs. Gerard drew near, followed by a bevy of charming young ladies, most con- 
spicuous of whom was the "Princess," Geraldine St. Clair. Fair, graceful, and 
faultlessly gowned she possessed a sort of witchery — though whether it was in the 
eyes or in the smile, Keith Stanbury could not tell. He only knew that his veins 
ran wine, and that the moment he had looked forward to was here. 

"It was good of you to come," he murmured, holding her hand a little 
longer than he had the others, and looking straight into her eyes. 

Later they were all assembled in the dining-room, and Keith was telling 

22 



Historic Facts and Fancies 

stories of his various experiences in the desert, while Colonel Stanbury looked on 
with an air of fatherly pride, watching Keith intently at times, as if studying his 
every lineament. "Do you think he has changed much?" he asked of Geraldine — 
and Geraldine who had been chatting gaily, paused, and looked across to the 
opposite end of the table where Keith sat — handsome, broad-shouldered, and 
erect, a little pale perhaps, but otherwise without a trace of illness. 

"Changed?" she repeated softly. "No, he looks quite like his old self 
tonight." 

"I am glad you think so. I am awfully anxious about him at times," and as 
he said this his face grew grave. 

"Yes, I can understand, but there is everything to hope for, I am sure. In 
another year he may be able to return to San Francisco." 

"Yes," replied the Colonel. "Many things may happen within a year," and 
Geraldine in the aftertime recalled those words full oft. 

When they repaired to the drawing-room Keith sought her side at once. 

Vivacious Mollie Tennant, from behind her fan, whispered something to 
her companion, Mrs. Gerard. The elder lady smiled good-naturedly, and re- 
marked that she hoped Keith would be able to hold his own. 

"If he does, he will be the first one," answered Mollie. "The men fairly 
rave over Geraldine, you know, and Keith Stanbury will be like all the rest, I 
imagine." 

"I should be very sorry for him if I thought so." 

"Sorry — why so?" 

"Because Geraldine is not the one for him. She would be the last person in 
the world to bury herself in a desert hamlet like this — a thousand miles from 
nowhere." 

"But Keith Stanbury doesn't expect to stay here forever, does he?" said 
Mollie. 

"It's hard telling as to that. He hasn't gotten over his cough yet — just a 
slight bronchial trouble he calls it, but I sometimes fear it's more serious than he 
realizes. His mother died just about his age." 

The conversation was interrupted here. Some one had asked Geraldine to 
sing, and with sweet graciousness of manner she now took her place at the piano, 
singing first a gay little French song, and then that sweetest of ballads, "Because 
I Love You." 

Keith Stanbury listened with head thrown back and half-closed eyes, drink- 
ing into his very soul the melody of that voice — not a powerful voice, but one 
that was strangely sweet and sympathetic. 

It was pleasant to watch her. The picture that she made in her pale pink 
evening gown would linger in his memory long after she had returned to the great 
gay world. 

The following morning Keith rose at an early hour. He had slept but little. 
The excitement had perhaps made him restless, and so, long before the others 
had risen, he strolled out in the garden to enjoy the fresh, invigorating air. He 
sat down on a rustic seat, and here, after an hour or so, Geraldine St. Clair joined 
him. He started in glad surprise. 

"Am I to believe my eyes ! " he exclaimed. "I did not know you rose with 
the lark." 

"Hardly that, Mr. Stanbury," she replied smilingly. "It's after seven 
already. An ideal morning though, isn't it? Just the kind that makes one glad 
to be alive. But how still it is ! " she added after a moment's pause. 

"Yes. Not much like San Francisco down here at Palm Springs ! " 

"No, but you have a lovely place; and the climate is certainly delightful." 

23 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



"At this season of the year — yes. Ikit you'd not fancy it in Munnier ; the 
heat is somethino- lerritic." 

"You flee to the mountains then, I suppose." 

"Yes. when it gets too unhearahle to stay here longer. There among the 
pines it is always cool. There is a sanitarium up there for the one-lung people 
who come from far and near hoping to regain their health. I feel sorry for some 
of the poor fellows. They come too late, you see ; have not the ghost of a chance 
to get well, yet they cling to life and seem hopeful to the last. Hut pardon me — 
this isn't society talk, is it? " 

"Perhaps not, but I am interested. Go on, please, and tell me all about your- 
self, what vou have done, and how you have lived through all these months." 

"Lived! " he exclaimed. "I haven't lived at all — at least not until you came." 

"\'ery prettilv said. Mr. .Stanbury," she answered gaily. "Shall I return it 
in kind, and tell }-ou that the sun hasn't shone since your Iligliness left San 
Francisco." 

"Don't make a jest of it. T want you to be serious." 

"It's dangerous to be serious," she replied, looking away from him now, 
towards the distant mountain tops where the shifting lights and shadows lay. 

"You are right, Princess, but there are times when a man courts danger 
willingly." 

"You were always a little reckless, if I remember rightly." 

"Then you do remember some things, do you ? " 

"Oh, yes, a few ; your most prominent characteristics, for instance." 

"Those are soon told," he said. "I had hoped you remembered other things 
— but that would be asking much, I suppose. Your life has been too full." 

"Not so full as you think, perhaps. Rest assured I did not forget you, Mr 
Stanbury. In fact, I have thought of you often, very often." 

Her perfect sincerity of voice and manner were unmistakal)le now. Obeying 
a sudden impulse, Keith raised her hand and kissed it. 

"Do you know," said he, "you have the kindest heart in the world. Going 
into exile isn't exactly a lark, I confess, but there are compensations and this hour 
is one of them. I hope you'll not find it too dull and lonely here — that's the only 
fear I have." 

"Banish the fear at once, then. I'm anticipating nothing but pleasure during 
my few weeks" stay in Lotos Land." 

"Lotos Land," he repeated, "that's where people forget, isn't it. all save 
the joy of the present? .\ happy thought. Thanks for the suggestion." 

In the days that followed Keith carried out the suggestion well-nigh to the 
letter. Palm Springs, isolated though it was. became the scene of a ceaseless 
round of gaieties, and nightly the desert home echoed to sounds of mirth and 
music. They watched the old year out and the new year in ; danced and mas- 
c|ueraded ; visited the hot s]M-ings, and took long drives in the tally-ho behind a 
s|)iritcd four-horse team. Sometimes in the early morning, or late in the after- 
noon, Keith drove out in his trim wagonette, accom])anic(l first by one and then 
another of his guests, but oftenest by Geraldine St. Clair. 

" 'Pen my word, I believe those two people are getting interested in each 
other," said Jack Fo.ster one day. 

"Looks decidedly like it, I must confess," replied I'lliot I'reston leaning back- 
in his chair and pufifing a fragrant Havana. 

"The rest of us are out of the race then." said Jack dubiouslw 

"That's so, but we'll not go and hang ourselves yet a while. The fair 
Geraldine may smile on us again .some day." 

"Perhaps. — but they have been pretty good friends for a long time, you 

24 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



know ; took part in a play last year as prince and princess, and the rest of us fel- 
lows were fairly green with envy, especially in the scenes where he used to make 
love to her. Keith lost his heart then and there, I fancy. His illness and sub- 
sequent departure for Palm Springs somewhat interfered with matters probably ; 
but the play's begun again now in dead earnest, at least so far as our friend 
Stanbury is concerned." 

Tack Foster surmised aright. Keith Stanbury was desperately in love. In 
Gera'ldine's presence he forgot all else, even the stern fate that had sent him to 
this remote region on the desert. He was growing stronger every day, it seemed, 
and his friends were very hopeful. 

"Your exile will soon be ended," they said. And Keith smiled blandly, half 
believing their words were prophetic. 

But one day he did not join them either in their sports or merriment. The 
old sense of weariness was upon him. The deadly languor which he had fought 
so often, like a subtle, invisible foe, assailed him once more, reminding him more 
forcibly than ever that he was not the man he once had been, and that his days 
of exile were still indefinite. 

He looked at his friends. Jack and Hal — strong, stalwart fellows — and for 
the first time in his life Keith envied them — envied them that splendid vitality 
which all the wealth of the Indies can not buy. 

With his head resting on his hand he sat thinking for a long time that night. 
The hopes that he had dared to cherish seemed fading. It might be years before 
he could go back to the old life, and until he could, all thoughts of winning Ger- 
aldine were vain. He had been mad enough to forget all this — now he seemed 
to see things more clearly. The sacrifice — the loneliness — the complete isolation 
from all that gave color to existence — that was what life on the border would 
mean. It was too much — too much by far to ask of Geraldine St. Clair, even 
though she might love him. 

He was very pale when he went down to breakfast next morning. Colonel 
Stanbury was the first to notice it and made anxious inquiries, but to these Keith 
responded in his usual cheery manner. He was all right and would be ready to 
go with them to Palm Valley, just as they had planned. 

"But we're quite willing to give the plan up," said Geraldine with a look of 
kindly solicitude. 

"Don't think of it. I shall feel the better for going," was Keith's reply. He 
was making an almost superhuman eft'ort to appear himself that morning. Come 
what might he was going to enjoy the day — this last but one of Geraldine's visit. 

All was in readiness at length, and amidst a chorus of laughing voices the 
party started for Palm Valley, some eight miles distant. 

Never had a day been more fair. The little village nestling amid beautiful 
orchards was soon left behind. Gaily they rode over the long sandy stretches, 
now through a forest of mimosa, and now past a sparkling stream where desert 
willows grew, then, up the mountainside, reaching at last the famous Valley of 
Palms. 

Exclamations of delight were heard from all. There was nothing like it on 
the face of the globe, Keith told them ; and as they gazed on the fronded palms 
towering in majestic beauty far up the heights, they could well believe his words. 

On the fern-covered bank of a mountain stream the party sat down to lunch ;; 
then started off for a long exploring tour to the upper end of the valley. Jack 
and Mollie taking the lead, while Keith and Geraldine walked slowly and were 
soon left behind. 

Geraldine was in her merriest mood, and Keith as he looked into her 
shining eyes thought of a thousand tender things that he longed to say, 
but which were wiser left unsaid. 



-^j 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



Throuj^h the beautiful ])alms and alders, sycamores and cottonvvoods, 
the two made their way, graining at length the top of a high ridge. Half 
exhausted by the long climb Keith sat down to rest, but Geraldine remained 
standing, her eyes looking olT toward the desert. From this palm-clothed 
summit she could see it in all its vastness now — an unbroken waste that 
gleamed and quivered like molten silver. In the distance a column of smoke 
was rising — coming nearer and nearer. A moment more she discerned the 
Sunset Limited, northward bound — the train that tomorrow would bear her 
away to the north. 

Keith watched her face intently. He, too, had noticed the train and was 
thinking of the morrow — the morrow when all things ended. A feeling of 
despair came over him, followed by a half-savage desire to fling sense and 
reason to the winds — to follow her — never to lose sight of her — this rare and 
winsome creature whose very presence could make life an ecstasy. Rising 
suddenly to his feet he w^ent and stood beside her. 

"Do you know what I'm half tempted to do?" he exclaimed. 

"Something desperate, perhaps," she replied smilingly. 

"You're right. I'm going back with you to San Francisco and home." 

"Why, Keith Stanbury ! you are jesting." 

"Jesting! no — but I can't li\'e my life without you. There I could see 
you often. Here — I shall be eating my heart out " 

"lUit here there is a chance for you to get well. Not for the world 
would I have you take this risk now." 

Something in her tone made life suddenly radiant. 

"Tell me — could you wait for me?" he exclaimed. 

"Wait for you, yes. Or if need be, come to you." 

"What ! Give up the world, and come to me here ?" 

"Yes, if you wished it, dear," she answered, and in those words Keith 
saw that her woman's heart had spoken — that now he need never doubt her 
love. 

"The sacrifice would be too great, my darling, too great for me to ask. 
]')Ut some day, if I should get well " 

"Don't say 'if,' " interrupted Geraldine. "You are bound to get well. 
Every day you must drink in this heavenly air and say over and over, T shall 
get well, I shall get well.' And health will come to you, yes, it will surely 
come. There is so much to live for. just think of the long happy years that 
may be ours together." 

Her words thrilled him strangely. 

"Please heaven, I will get well," he murmured, with a new glad ring in 
his voice; then drew her to his heart and kissed her. 



Three weeks later their engagement was announced. It was much talked 
of in the society world. That it was a genuine love match no one doubted ; 
even Mrs. Gerard admitted that the two seemed very devoted, and that 
possibly Geraldine might content herself at l"*alm Springs should it be her 
fate to live there. 

l)Ut what the world said or what the world thought mattered little to 
Keith or Geraldine. Every day Keith wrote to her, and every day a letter 
came from Geraldine that cheered and made bright his life. ]\Iore and more 
he was beginning to feel like his former self, ller words to him that day on 
the mountains seemed to have acted like a talisman. He repeated them the 
last thing at night, and the first thing in the morning. 

Meanwhile he took excellent care of himself, and followed all directions 

26 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



to the letter. Nothing- should be left undone — no, for was not Geraldine wait- 
ing for him, Geraldine, the sweetest, dearest girl in the world. Never was 
mortal more blessed than he, thought Keith ; never did life hold richer 
promises. 

Early in April Colonel Stanbury came down again, bringing with him a 
small house party this time. And if Keith had been happy before he was doubly 
so now, for Geraldine's smiles were for him alone. He was always her 
escort in the long drives, and in the walks they took through the sweet- 
scented garden, on those matchless nights when the great southern moon 
flooded the world with beauty. Delightful hours indeed, leaving memories 
for a lifetime — but they came to an end at last, and Geraldine went back to her 
world again, smiling through her tears as the train rolled out from the 
station. 

Four months later Keith Stanbury followed her. He had grown strong 
and well. His cough had left him. So in the early autumn they were 
married, and hosts of friends wished them every blessing. 

People at Palm Springs read with interest the particulars of the charming- 
wedding, and they, too, wished him joy, for he had many friends in that 
desert hamlet who would remember him always as that prince of good fellows 
whom riches had not spoiled. They would probably never see him again. 
With his charming bride he was to take up his residence in San Francisco 
now, in a home more palatial by far than the one at Palm Springs, it was 
said. A lucky fellow was Stanbur}-, just the luckiest fellow on earth. But 
one day — a day when the fog came rolling in from the bay and the whole 
landscape was blurred as by a darkening mist — Stanbury realized with terror 
that his cough had returned — a cough which he tried to stifle, fearing 
Geraldine might worry. But she was not blind and was quick to act. 

Going up to him and putting her arms about his neck, she said, "Don't 
you think, dear, that we'd better go back to Palm Springs?" 

He made no reply for a moment. There was a lump in his throat, and 
things were a little blurred before his eyes. 

"I had not planned for that," he said at length. "And you would be so 
lonely." 

"As if that would be possible when I had you with me," she answered, 
brightly. "Think how happy we were there in the old days, and we shall be 
just as happy again. Let us. go at once." 

And so it came about that the house at Palm Springs was opened once 
more ; and the friends who before had come down with the Colonel now went 
back with Stanbury and his bride. 

There was much merrymaking, and for this Keith was glad, though he 
himself could only look on for he did not gain as rapidly as he had hoped. 

There came a day when he grew suddenly worse. He breathed with 
difficulty. And Geraldine's heart was heavy though she said no word. Grace- 
ful and charming as ever she played her part as hostess, excusing herself 
early in the evening, however, to go and stay with Keith — poor Keith who 
now lay back on his couch, pale and weak, with a strange, wistful look in his 
eyes. 

They sent for a physician and through the long hours Geraldine waited. 

Down in the drawing-room below there was laughter and music. 

"Don't tell them I am worse," Keith whispered. 

And so the merrymaking went on— went on until midnight. Some one 
passmg by the door stopped to make inquiries of the doctor, who had just 
arrived. He was grave, keen-eyed, and it needed but a glance for him to read 
the worst. 

27 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



"The young man is dying. He will not live until morning." Those were 
his words in that whispered consultation — words that were repeated in the 
drawing-room at the midnight hour — and the music and the song and the 
merrymaking ceased. 



They wired to Colonel Stanbury. A funeral train came out to the desert 
and took them all away. There were tears. But Cieraldine did not weep, 
though for her the world was in darkness. Somehow she felt that he whom 
she loved was with her still, that for him all was well — and this thought sus- 
tained her. kept her heart from breaking. But her face was white as death 
when she lifted her veil, and turned for a last look on that desert home stand- 
ing far back among the trees in the midst of tropical bloom and verdure. 

Many months have come and gone. Today the house stands tenantless ; 
the verandas are festooned with cobwebs. Weeds are growing rank in the 
garden ; the tropical shrubbery is dying. There is an air of desolation about 
the place, and the only sound is that of the mourning dove's song, repeated 
often through the long, languorous hours. 




"Extracts from aTLetter 'Written b^ Albert 

SPtvoxis. in IS69, ^fter a Orip 

up Oamalpais 

Outdoor Art Club, Alill \ alley. 

HERE is not a finer mountain for its height — two thousand six 
hundred feet — on all the continent of America than Tamalpais, 
the bold abutment of the Coast Range, on the northern side of 
the Golden Gate, a low spur of which runs down into the 
Pacific Ocean and forms Point Bonita. The origin and 
signification of the name are matters of doubt. Ma\ pais is a 
common designation for rocky, barren ground in all Spanish- 
American countries, and Ta-mal-pais may be a corruption of 
that term, the unnecessary primary syllable having, perhaps, been engrafted 
upon it by the Indians or Russians after the Spanish settlement of the 
country. 

The mountain looks well from any ])oint of \-ie\v. in smnnier or in 
winter; but its outlines seem boldest, and the dim blue haze, which envelops 
it always, the softest and most beautiful, I think, when looked upon from the 
Bay of San Francisco, or the heights of Telegraph or Russian Hill. It stands 
in Marin County, or rather it is Marin County; for take away Tamalpais, and 
what is left of Marin County would hardly fill a wheelbarrow. 

Out of the dusty carriage-road, at last we entered the narrow bridle-trail, 
which winds up the steep mountainside, through the rocky mal pais, covered 
with wide fields of the bitter chamisal. which spreads over the whole upper 
part of the mountain. 'Hiis bitter shrul). the leaves of which no living 
creature will eat, grows only on ground which will support nothing else. 
The sun was w^ell uj) in the heavens, and the air growing oppressively warm, 
when we passed above the timbered belt, and entered this chamisal country. 
We halted, and looked back. In the southeast, San Francisco, lying out- 

28 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



stretched, a tawny giant upon the gray hills of the peninsula, showed dimly 
through the veil of yellow dust and the dun-colored smoke which overhung it. 
Down to the southward, almost at our feet, lay the Golden Gate, the Presidio 
of San Francisco, and the straits leading up from the ocean to the Bay of 
San Francisco, with the rock fortress of Alcatraz presenting its tier above 
tier of black cannon, standing like a sentinel at the gateway, keeping grim 
watch and ward at the western portal of a mighty land. A huge, black-hulled 
steamer was heading out through the Golden Gate into the blue Pacific, bound, 
possibly, to far-off lands on the other edge of the world beyond our western 
horizon. The Bay of San Pablo was a duck-pond at our feet ; the Straits of 
Carquinez dwindling away to a mere silver thread in the distance ; and the 
Bay of Suisun only a whitish-brown patch in the landscape farther north. 
Oakland, and all her sister towns along the eastern shore of the bay, looked 
out here and there from the midst of embowering trees. Mount Diablo, clad 
in garments of dun and straw color, rose high into the blue sky on the 
eastward, seeming to ascend as we ascended, and grow taller and more 
gigantic at every step ; following us up, as it were, and bullying us as we 
went, as if determined that we should not be permitted to look down upon 
him nor receive a diminished idea of his importance. Northward and north- 
eastward, stretching out leagues on leagues from his base, were the wide, 
dark tule swamps, and half-submerged islands of the Sacramento and San 
Joaquin, bordered by bright, straw-colored valleys, stretching away to the 
point where the dark-green line of the summits of the Sierra Nevada melted 
into and blended with the blue cloudless sky of autumn, upon the farther 
verge of the horizon. We looked down upon the homes of two hundred 
thousand toiling, active and busy people. The homes of millions of happy, 
contented, abundantly blessed people will, in a few years, fill that broad land 
on which we gazed with deep and silent admiration that morning. If I were 
a painter, I would unroll my canvas at that point, and paint you such a 
picture as you should stand before and gaze upon with unspeakable delight 
from morn to night. I am not — more is the pity ! 

A\^e climbed to the summit of the mountain and looked down on the blue, 
illimitable Pacific ; that is to say, we looked down the steep western slope of 
the mountain in the direction where the blue, illimitable Pacific was, and still 
is, and probably always will be, located, and would have seen it had it not 
been hidden beneath a bank of snow-white fog, as solid and impenetrable to 
the eye as the mountain itself. We could hear the incessant moaning of the 
sea. as it dashed its waves on the rock-bound coast beneath us, but that was 
all. The bay where the chivalrous old filibuster and pirate. Sir Francis Drake, 
moored his fleet some centuries ago, and from whence he sailed some weeks 
later, without an idea of the existence of the grand Bay of San Francisco and 
the glorious country of which the Golden Gate, right under his long, sharp, 
rakish nose, is the portal, was just below us on the northwest, but it might as 
well have been a thousand miles away. Point Lobos and Point Bonita were 
invisible, and the Farallones were buried countless fathoms deep beneath 
the fog-bank. All was an utter blank from a point a thousand feet beneath 
us. Even as we gazed upon it, the bosom of the snowy fog-bank heaved and 
rocked at the touch of the rising gale ; then the whole vast fleecy mass moved 
inward upon the land, and silently, but with the speed of thought, and 
apparently with irresistible force, came rushing like a migljty avalanche up 
the slope of the mountain toward the summit on which we stood. 

As we turned our steps to the eastward and passed over the crest of 
the mountain again, we saw the mist moving up through the Golden Gate, 

29 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




THE OLD PALMS. 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



and rolling over the island of Alcatraz, which in a moment was enveloped and 
hidden from sight. As the island disappeared, the low, mournful voice of the 
tolling fog-bell came faintly but distinctly to our ears, borne on the soft, 
moist air. B-o-o-m ! b-o-o-m ! b-o-o-m ! a throbbing pulsation of sound, always 
inexpressibly painful for me to listen to, and I have heard it thousands of 
times. 

We rode along the ridge a mile or two in the dense, salt fog, until our 
clothing was drenched as if from a thunder shower, and we all smelled like 
so many Point Lobos mussels, while water streamed out of the barrels of our 
guns, whenever we turned them downward. 

Suddenly we emerged from the cloud and found ourselves below and 
outside of it, and in the sunshine again. 

As I have already remarked, Tamalpais is one of the finest of the lesser 
mountains of California ; an attractive mountain to look at from Russian or 
Telegraph Hill. It is there all the time and you may see it any day. Adios. 



[p 






n 




i 






* 




E 






M. 





^n Ancient Can6mark 

Wednesday Club, San Diego. 

N a suburb of San Diego stand two palms, notable as being the 
oldest trees planted by Europeans in Upper California. They 
were set out by the Franciscan Padres, soon after the Mission of 
San Diego was founded in 1769. This was the first Mission of 
the chain established by the Fathers, and extended from San 
Diego to San Francisco. The trees mark the entrance to the 
garden of the old Mission, which was situated within the en- 
closure containing the military barracks or presidio on the top 
of the bluff. 
The San Diego River, lying back and east of the trees, made such ravages 
upon the bay that a breakwater was built in the seventies. In accomplishing 
this, large quantities of gravel and soil were removed, greatly reducing the size 
of the eminence. 

Some years after its founding the old Mission was attacked and the monks 
and Christianized Indians were massacred. The friars then built another Mission 
four or five miles farther up the river, on a rising piece of grovmd jutting into 
the water, which sweeps around in a curve following the convolutions of the 
valley. This latter site now holds the ruins of the later A/fission and the buildings 
of the modern Indian school, established some twenty-five years ago by Father 
U. D. Ubach, the Padre Antonio Gaspard of Mrs. Helen Plunt Jackson's romance 
of "Ramona." 



31 



Historic Facts and F 



a n c 1 e s 




Saw. iDiego 

A\'e(lnes(la}- Club, San Die^o. 

AT'J'IFL'L daughter of Sun and Wind, 
Sweet flower bosom and loving heart, 
Nope of the hopeless, mother kind. 
Clasp us, keep us. no more to j^art ! 



C]old of the poiipy gleaming bright. 

Shines on the mesas far and wide. 
Shy nasturtiums cower from sight 

I'nder their vines on the canon side. 

llougainvillea clusters bloom 

Purple and red on the rocky slojie. 

Lilies and roses blend perfume 
liounded by hedges of heliotrope. 

Feathery peppers' scarlet peas 
Sprinkle the olives' silver sheen. 

Spreading fronds of the great palm trees 
Clash like the spears of hordes unseen. 

Fleet-winged choristers flute among 

Lllossoming boughs the whole day thro'. 

Sweeter orisons never were sung 
Under a heaven of bluest blue. 

Softly at midnight's magic hour 

List, the mocking bird's plaintive crv. 

Wooing his mate in leafy bower. 

'Neath the luminous moonlight sky. 

Time is fettered with garlands fair. 

Woven by Summer's gentle hand. 
Icy Winter may never dare 

Enter this lovely lotus land. 

l^^astward in opal-tinted veil 

Rugged mountains salute the day. 

Westward where countless fleets mav sail 
Glitters fair San Diego Bay. 



32 



pioneers 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




Ol)e (Tall of tl)e U>est 

I'^rom Country Club. .Manicda Countv. 



f/l-^ the vastncss of the ])hiins there blew, 
haint. yet alluring- as a siren's song, 
Wind from the far west, from its journey long. 

Breathing sweet whisperings of a land it knew. 

Oh, on far hilltops it had laughed with glee. 

Through canon's deep, agleam with gold, had swept ; 
Through glimmering fields of oats waist-high had crept ; 
Deep in the heart of golden poppies slept. 

And kissed the woodland sloping to the sea ! 

And he who heard the whisper could not rest. 
Felt his blood leap, his pulses thrill, and lo — 
Without a look behind, he turned to go 

In answer to the voice from out of the West. 



34 



^ !^rief SKetcl) of t^e Cife of a 43ione(tr 
of Southern (Talifornia 



Craft Woman's Club. 




HE subject of this sketch, Eliza P. Russell, was born at Una- 
dilla Center, Otseg^o County, New York, November 29, 1825. 
She lived upon a farm. She was very ambitious and studied 
hard to become a scholar. She attended school at Herkimer, 
X. Y., r>ances Town, N. H., and was graduated from the 
Eemale Seminary in 1847. 

She taug-ht as vice-principal in Hillsboro, Virginia; after- 
wards in Ellicott's Mills, Maryland — four happy years in her 
life. In 1852 she left with her brother, the Rev. A. S. Russell, who 
had charge of a parish below New Orleans, where she taught on a 
sugar plantation when French was almost universally spoken. It was 
here she married Professor E. Robbins, June 6, 1854, an acquaintance 
of her girlhood. He had just made his first visit to California, where 
after hunting unsuccessfully for gold, he taught at the Methodist 
College in Santa Clara. They left for California, November i, 1854. Their 
route was down the Atlantic coast, across the Caribbean Sea to San Juan del 
Norte, then on the San Juan River and across Lake Nicaragua, with twelve 
miles overland to San Juan del Sur, on the Pacific coast, where they took a 
steamer to San Francisco. This trip took twenty-four days and cost $300 
each. They arrived in Santa Clara the day before Thanksgiving. 

Here Professor Robbins founded a select school, which he taught suc- 
cessfully three years. He was then persuaded to go to Los Angeles, but on 
his arrival, not finding material for a high school, he concluded to return to 
Santa Clara. 

A steamer plied between San Francisco and San Pedro but once a week. 
Professor and Airs. Robbins were prevented from taking the steamer by a 
severe storm and, while waiting. Professor Robbins received a call from Dr. 
Barton to take charge of the public school of San Bernardino, then in its 
infancy. This was in 1857. 

While in Santa Clara a boy was born to gladden their hearts, but his little 
life was only four brief years. 

In San Bernardino two adobe schoolhouses had been completed by the 
Mormons, who were then in the valley. There were from seventy-five to one 
hundred pupils in the school district. This was too large a school for Professor 
Robbins alone, so his wife taught forty of the younger children. Mrs. Robbins 
was by inclination, education and training fully competent to take her place 
by his side in their chosen calling. 

These were the pioneer days in the New West. Those who blazed the 
trails and endured the hardships in the New Westland made it possible for 
those who have followed to reap what the pioneers had sown. 

A little girl was born in the summer of 1861. Professor Robbins died 
March i, 1864. Mrs. Robbins, left alone with her child and in poor health, felt 
the bitterness of her loss. She taught a school at x'Xgua Manse (which is now 
Colton), at the base of Slover Mountain. A Mrs. Slover, a Spanish lady, was 
her dearest friend in that lonely place. Mrs. Robbins went back to her home 
in San Bernardino after finishins: the school term. 



35 



Historic Facts and F 



a n c t e s 



Professor R()I)l)ins and liis wife (»])cne(l the first Sunday-scliool in San 
Bernardino witli t\venty-fi\e ]jui)ils. In this work tliev were assisted by a Mr. 
AI. H. Crafts, who li\ed at Altoona Ranch ( Crafton ). Mr. Crafts was a friend 
of Professor and Mrs. Robl:)ins. and when she was left alone with her little 
girl, he asked her to become his wife. They were married and made their 
home at Crafton on the Mill Creek zanje. Their home place was widelv 
known as "Crafton Retreat." 

AFrs. Crafts, who is now more than eighty years old. saw this valley when 
there was not an orange tree in it. She has watched with much pleasure and 




^ // £Ul^ ^^oM^ 



interest the remarkaljly rapid growth of beautiful Redlands and all the sur- 
rounding country. The far-famed Smiley Heights (Canyon Crest Park) has 
been made, and more than sc\en thousand acres of citrus trees have been 
planted, and she has seen this transformation like a beautiful picture painted 
on earth's gray canvas. 

Her life has been full of interest, and through all its vicissitudes she has 
trusted the Master and Me has ncxcr failed her. Little did this young girl 
dream that she would be a pioneer in far-off California. Thus it is we never 
know wdiere the wheel of life will cast us. 

36 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




O^e jFemak Unstitute 

Santa Clara Woman's Club. 

HE Female Institute, which still stands and silently endures 
tlie wear and tear of time, is a pitiful example of old age. 
To a stranger the old rambling building stands grim, silent, 
and condemned as unsafe for habitation, weather-beaten and 
ready to be cast aside, its dreary halls, ^•acant rooms, which 
were once the cozy sleeping apartments of the "boarding- 
school girl ; the cobwebbed w^indows, dusty with the accu- 
mulations of years, once were covered with dainty hangings, 
and the happy schoolgirls looked through the dim glass at the passer- 
by or gazed pensively at the moon, and thought of home ; the deserted 
schoolrooms ; the silent piano rooms, that rang with the continual 
bang of scale and chord, or echoed with "Lily Dale," "^lohawk 
Vale," or the never-to-be-forgotten popular instrumental selection, "The 
]\Iaiden"s Prayer" — yet, to the stranger it is but an old, dilapidated, dmgy 
structure, forgotten, deserted, and waiting for its utter destruction. 

To its friends it stands a monument of the bra^•est, truest set of men and 
w^omen that ever banded together to accomplish a great good. The far-seeing 
ones realized that in this growing West there were youths to be educated. 
Already influences were at work undermining the teaching of those who were 
constantly seeking the best for their children — both boys and girls. 

The history of the founding, growing, and maintaining of the Methodist 
Episcopal Institute is a long story of hard work, discouragements, and suc- 
cess, but never of failure. Men have risen, worked, and passed to their 
reward during the fifty-four years since the founding of this place of learning. 
It has often been asked how "The Institute" became so well known 
throughout the State and so universally recognized as one of the best schools 
on the Coast. Scholarships were issued in 1853, ^"^ thus every Methodist 
Episcopal minister, no matter in what small hamlet he was carrying on his 
work, became an' agent for this school in Santa Clara. These zealous preach- 
ers sold the scholarships alb over the State, urged people to send their boys 
and girls to Santa Clara. Many responded — from city, hamlet, and mining 
camp. In those days this shabby, old Female Institute was the pride of the 
A^alley. 

Among all those who attended the institution in early days, we well 
remember the arrival of the little girl from "Yankee Jim." The little maid 
rode for miles over the Sierras to Sacramento by stage along the dangerously 
steep and rocky mountain roads, from Sacramento to San Francisco by 
steamer. At the latter place she came by boat to Alviso, and from there to 
Santa Clara by stage. The large creaking vehicle drew up before the Insti- 
tute ! The young girl, tired and already somewhat homesick, w^as conducted 
into this imposing "boarding-school" and presented to the principal. The 
poor trembling child found it hard to subdue the emotions that were rising 
within her. The arrival of the little girl from "Yankee Jim" is typical of 
many arrivals at the door of the Female Institute. 

It chanced that recently a catalogue containing the names of girls coming 
from Placerville, Stockton, San Luis Obispo, Visalia, Knights Ferry, and 
many other parts of the State, was unearthed. 

Many were the incidents connected with the exciting times that prevailed 

37 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




FEMALE INSTITUTE. 

during the Civil War. The pupils of the Female Institute constituted a small 
world of their own. Northern abolitionists and Southern secessionists often 
came in sharp conflict. As soon as news came from the active field of battle, 
the townspeople congregated on the Plaza, which is situated directly in front 
of the Institute, and built huge bonfires, and this excitement had its efi^ect 
upon the inmates of the seminary. 

One incident marked these stirring times, when two girls started to raise 
their respective flag over the old Institute. Unknown to each other until they 
met in the tower, they climbed the steep staircase. It is said that a real hand- 
to-hand fight took place in that old tower, which ended in the "Stars and 
Stripes" and not the "Stars and Bars" being victorious. 

Another little incident equally impressive took place on a cold morning. 
It was a rule in the school that the girls take turns laying the fire for the 
mc^rning. On a particular day it was found that this had not been done. 
The teacher saw the negligence and asked whose turn it was to kindle the 
fire. A pert, dark-eyed Southern girl replied: "It was ma' turn to lay the 
fire, ]\Iis' Frambes, but that's a nigger's joli, and I'm no nigger." At recess, 
a younger girl, but a Republican, went u]) to her and said: "Huh! the idea 
of your putting on such airs! You never owned a nigger in your whole life, 
for you're nothing but poor white trash, anyway !"' '1 he Southern girl soon 
made the little Republican feel that she wished she had kept still. 

To tell of the romances of the institution would fill volumes. One love- 
note, that was tossed oxer the girls' fence, is still in existence and reads thus: 

Meet me by moonliglit, when all the world is still; 
I'll jump the Institute fence in spite of old Prof. Tuttle, 
And in my arms I "11 take you and press you to my breast, 
The secret I will whisper — and you can guess the rest. 

38 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



John Dickinson, a teacher of the Institute, was a l^rother of the talented 
Anna Dickinson, who gave the first o-enuine Woman's Snfifrag-e lecture in 
the adobe church. This lecture created as much discussion as the war news. 

On festive occasions one could see long winding lines of girls marching 
by twos from the old seminary doors, and joined by the college boys, who 
formed a similar procession, waving flags and banners to martial music on 
their way to the adobe church or Cook's Grove. 

At the close of the term of each year many tear-stained faces turned 
reluctantly from the old seminary doors, leaving companions and teachers as 
they returned to their distant homes. Many grandmothers in the State of 
California will vividly recall the old Santa Clara Female Institute of 1853. 




A !^it of (Tallfornia flioneer Ifistor^ 

Laurel Hall Club. 

FEW x\merican and Russian ships came into the harbor of San 
Francisco in the spring of 1833 and anchored near Telegraph 
Hill. At this time there was a Spanish military post at the 
Presidio, commanded by Captain Vallejo. Nearly 300 men, 
women and children lived at the barracks, and Fort Point, 
known then as Castle Point, was well garrisoned. The Mission 
Dolores was inhabited by the padres, and was also the home of 
some 2,000 Indians. In the bay, in 1833, sea-otters were plen- 
tiful and the skins sold from $40 to $60 apiece to the ships that traded on the 
coast. In 1833 Portsmouth Scjuare was planted with potatoes. It was en- 
closed by a fence of brush, and the crop belonged to Candelario Miramontes, 
who resided with his family at the Presidio. 

The block between Pacific, Jackson, Montgomery and Sansome streets 
was used as a pasture for horses. Nathan Spear was one of the first merchants 
in San Francisco. His stock was general merchandise and was carried to 
dift'erent points by two small schooners, the "Isabel" and the "Nicholas." 
There were but few houses in San Francisco in 1840, and most of them were 
of adobe, with tile roofs ; they were comfortable and roomy, warm in winter 
and cool in summer. The majority of these houses had floors, but no carpets. 
The men and women of that time had beautiful hair and it was a rare sight 
to see a gray-haired person. The women of those early days were domestic 
and industrious, and although there was little variety in their food from day 
to day, everything was most inviting, because the matron of the house gave 
her personal attention to such matters, and the household generally retired 
at 8:00 o'clock. There were no established schools outside the Alissions, 
young people being educated in the family. Most of the population of this 
period was of Spanish origin and had much taste and talent for music, the 
young women playing the guitar and the young men, the violin. In almost 
every family there were one or more musicians, and everywhere music was 
a familiar sound. 

The seat of government was at Monterey, where the governor and prefect 
resided. The sub-prefect, the secretary of state, and the commander-in-chief 
of the forces of the department completed the governor's cabinet. The gov- 
ernment in 1840 was both civil and military. The office of the prefect was 

39 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



of jT^reat importance: the wliole ci\il administration went throui^h his liands. 
In matters of doubt the g^overnor and his cabinet were consulted. During 
1840 a town council was formed, presided over by an alcalde. This body 
resided at the Presidio at first, but afterwards removed to the Mission Dolores. 
The alcalde was judge, jury and lawyer, deciding all cases at once, without 
delay. The governor, however, had full power to condemn, pardon or dis- 
charge a prisoner, a method of administration which proved satisfactory for 
those times. 




M.emim5cence5 of Carl^ (Talifornia 

Crossing the Isthmus in 1852 

Contemporary C'luli. 

[IE history of the emigration to California for the first few 
years following the discovery of gold in '49 is one of many 
tragedies — tragedies of the heart, when the dear one left for 
new and unknown lands; tragedies following the slow wagons 
across the plains, where hostile Indians barred the way, and 
hunger and thirst and unknown terrors were in the desert and 
on the trails across the mighty Rockies and Sierras; tragedies 
in the lonely, nameless graves that mark the old emigrant 
roads, and in the liroken hearts of those who left their dear ones b}^ the 
wayside. 

There Avere shipwrecks and dangers by sea; fever and cholera menaced 
the traveler on the Isthmus, so what wonder that when the last good-by was 
said it seemed like the final one. 

But dangers did not lessen the stream of emigration ; and in 1852 it was 
at floodtide. It was in this year, in the early part of September, that our partv 
from Xew^ England crossed the Isthmus of Panama. 

We had braved the tedious journey from Portland to New York in the 
August heat, and the sea voyage, with a host of fellow-passengers in the 
crowded staterooms of the old steamer "United States"; had accomplished 
the eighteen miles of railroad that had been built from Aspinwall to liarcelona. 
A\'e journeyed up the shallow, beautiful Chagres River in open boats, pro- 
pelled by natives. The "propellers" were long poles. A\'e went as far as 
(jorgona, a small natix'c \-illage. stopping there for the night. In a hotel? 
Oh, yes; a real hotel of unplaned lumber, with a dining-room and two other 
rooms, quite large, one for ladies, the other for gentlemen, each filled with 
narrow bedsteads made of rough boards. 

( )ne lady turned over the ])illow and found ants and other occupants! 
After that the children were packed down in shawls and the ladies rested 
their heads on their carpetbags — perhaps a trifle softer than the leather suit- 
cases and satchels of today, and waited for morning. 

The breakfast passed (black ants were not ai)])etizing). and again, on 
the open boats, we finished the distance of six miles to Cruces. another native 
village, at which place we prepared for the long mule ride to Panama, a dis- 
tance of about twenty-five miles. 

The children were provided with small chairs, strapped upon the backs 

40 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



of natives, in which they rode very comfortably. Then mules were led out, 
stubborn-looking customers, some of them. Very few of the ladies had ever 
ridden horseback before, so much time was consumed in getting them prop- 
erly adjusted, and it was nearly twelve o'clock when at last the line of march 
was taken up. 

It was about the close of the rainy season, and the road, quite wide, over 
the valley, was full of holes, filled with soft, clayey mud, through which the 
animals floundered, sometimes nearly up to their thighs, splashing their 
riders liberally with the soft, sticky mixture. Some women were thrown off; 
one fell five times, a mule had his leg broken in a bad hole and he was shot 
and the maid who was riding him had the pleasure of walking the remaining 
ten miles to Panama. 

The long train wound its way through the valley and began to ascend the 
mountain. Aleantime the sun, which had been oppressively hot all the morn- 
ing, retired behind dark clouds which momentarily grew blacker; distant thun- 
der muttered its warnings ; the trail narrowed to mule tracks, worn in the 
decayed rock; the bauks rose slantingly on either side from sixteen to eighteen 
feet, and above, tall evergreen trees grew, obliterating what daA'light there 
might have been left. 

Now the thunder burst terrifically, the wind howled, forked and zig-zag 
lightning darted fearfully around the devoted heads of the companv and rain 
poured in torrents. 

^ The climax of the shower, in all its tremendous glory, passed just as the 
summit was reached, but the rain continued to fall, though more gently. The 
water had accumulated between the banks and was dancing down the moun- 
tain in beautiful cascades in the trail, and the chug, chug of the mules' feet 
as they stepped carefully from one foot track to the next, was the only sound. 

The winding trail leading to the foot of the mountain was finally tra- 
versed, but here was a new problem to face. The river at its base, usually 
a small shallow stream, forded without danger, was now a raging torrent, 
swollen by the heavy rain ; its banks were full, and the guide refused to allow 
any one to attempt the crossing. After a consultation a native was sent away 
for a long rope. 

In the meantime the dripping company sat on their restive mules waiting 
— two long hours ! 

Finally the rope was brought, trailed across the river, fastened to trees 
on its banks, and one after the other the large company crossed the raging 
stream. It was almost swimming for the mules, and though knees were 
drawn up on the saddle, none escaped further wetting. 

Now it was nearly night, and only those who could ride rapidly would 
reach Panama that evening. Those who had children were, when darkness 
overtook them, sheltered in a native's hut. The evening meal was rice and 
coffee which were cooked over a fire in the center of the room, built on the 
ground floor ; there was a hole left open in the roof for the escaping smoke. 
When the cooking was over the mothers were allowed to draw around the 
coals, and they tried to dry the children a little. Umbrellas had been carried 
over them, but had given little protection. A canvas cot, a pillow (I wondered 
if it was Jacob's, imported), and a single blanket, dust color, though originally 
white, were the only accommodations for sleeping, and we lay down in our 
wet garments. Fortunately it was not cold, and the long night passed, though 
with little sleep. Breakfast was one large, hard-baked biscuit, and some very 
good coffee. Then a ride of four miles brought the belated travelers to 
Panama, where the most meager accommodations were secured. 

41 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



After a wait of ten days a steamer arrixed to take the weary travelers to 
San Francisco. A\'hen we embarked a small boat w'as brought as near the 
shore as the shallow water would permit and natives, wadin^: through it, car- 
ried the passengers, one by one. to the 1')oat. A\'hen it was filled they rowed 
it i>ut to the steamer, lying in dec]) water. Mere we clambered u]) a rope 
ladder over the ship's side and were glad indeed to be in ciNilization again, 
even if afloat. 

Si.xteen years later, returning East by the same route, the large steamer 
still had to anchor in deep water, but a fine little steamer came alongside and 
the passengers walked on board over a good gangplank and were speedily 
transferred to a pier, where a train stood ready to bear them across the 
Isthmus in cum fort. At .\si)in\vall another ocean steamer lay at her pier, 
with steam up, puffing her impatience until the passengers should be on board 
to commence her homeward voyage. \\"e had accomplished in five hours 
that which had taken twelve days in 1852. * * * The landing in San 
Francisco was made in what was then called Mappy \'alley, very near 
Montgomery street. A sidewalk of two boards led to various hotels. The 
old Tehama Hotel was then considered quite a smart place, with its thin 
siding walls, cloth lined and papered rooms. The table was excellent. Out- 
side were barren sand dunes. .\ few short streets were jilanked. the rest 
were sand. 

Within a few days our party left for Chico, taking one of the very com- 
fortable river steamers then plying to Sacramento. From there to our desti- 
nation was one hundred miles of never-to-be-forgotten staging. The first 
twelve miles took us through dry tules which stood as high as our stage and 
without a break the whole distance. The road was wide enough for only one 
vehicle. The stage was crowded almost to suffocation — three men on the 
front seat, three very large men on the center seat, with only a broad leather 
band for the support, causing them to sway well back, and three women and 
two children on the back seat ; small room for movement there. On the top 
were as manv men as could possibly hang on. among the numerous pieces of 
baggage. 

The sun l)lazed down in all its Sacramento A'alley fury and the dust rose 
to meet it in choking clouds, wdth no breeze to blow it away. 

There was a little more air wdien we emerged from the tule road (which 
was made late in summer, after the water had dried out. to shorten the dis- 
tance), but it was still very hot and dusty and the highway was not the 
smoothest ; hi)we\er, we arrived in Colusa about two o'clock in the afternoon. 

Here was an hour's rest and a very nice dinner. The afternoon was a 
little cooler, and at nine in the evening we reached our destination. The start 
had been made at six in the morning. 

Never before or since have I passed such a day of hardship in traxeling, 
and this was our introduction to California life. 

The winter of 1852 and 1853 was very rainy. Our hotel was on the 
Sacramento River, not far from its banks. Four times during that winter its 
waters overflowed, coming all about the house, twice coming in. driving us 
to the second floor, which we were fortunate enough to have. The settlers 
up and down the river had only low shake houses and were obliged to build 
up stagings of wagon beds, boxes or whatever they could get, lumber being 
a scarce commodity, and on them wait for the water to subside. We had 
manv ])leasures, too, our jolliest fun was canoeing. Scrambling over boxes 
and temporary supports, we visited our neighbors in the rude "dugouts"; all 

42 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



necessary errands and business were done by the boats, and the moonlight 
rides were beautiful. 

Beautiful spring came as the months rolled by, and there were glorious 
fields of wild flowers, everywhere most profuse, and of gorgeous coloring. 

Nowadays v/hen we travel through this valley in springtime great fields 
of waving grain, vineyards, and orchards, fine homes, and all the evidences 
of a prosperous civilization are seen, but for beauty and'picturesqueness, take 
me back to those waving oceans of wild fiowers, all the colors of the rainbow, 
the groves of noble old oaks, the river bends filled with all kinds of lovely 
green shrubbery, and the Indian villages built along the banks of the river, 
above high-water mark, yet always near the river and so strangely artistic. 
These have gone, never to return. I have never seen dwellings built like 
those of the Sacramento Valley "Digger" Indians among anj' other of the 
tribes. The Indians were at that time quite numerous in the valley and 
were very friendly in their intercourse with the white people. 

There had been trouble with the Coast Range Indians, about Round 
Valley and vicinity, two years before. They had come into the Sacramento 
Valley, killed some men and driven ofif stock. The settlers in self-defense had 
organized an expedition against them, had captured and shot the leaders of 
the trouble and so intimidated them that they remained peaceable thereafter. 

The Valley Indians were a weaker race than the mountain tribes and 
more peaceable by nature. There was quite a large rancheria or Indian village 
consisting of seven or eight of their fantastic houses, not far from our hotel. 
We frequently employed Indians about the premises, some of them working 
well. They came about us without fear, as we always treated them kindly. 
They called the capitaii (meaning head of the establishment) "mucha bueno" 
(very good). They always were "mucha hoongree," and begged for sugar, 
cofTee and clothes. When an Indian man had a hat and a shirt, he consid- 
ered himself finely dressed ; later they wore more clothing. Before the white 
people came the usual clothing of the men was war paint and feathers. For 
special occasions they had a sort of feather cape, reaching about to the knees, 
the feathers of the wild turkey were fastened into a kind of netting, which 
they made of certain grasses, and these were ornamented with the red 
feathers of woodpeckers' crests. The most gorgeous head-dresses were also 
made of turkeys' tails, with all kinds of prettily colored bird feathers and 
beads as ornaments. The 'vC'omen wore only tufts of twisted tule or bark 
before and behind them, and sometimes a blanket, when it was cold. 

One day they came to us in great excitement, saying that in "half a 
moon" they were to have a famous fandango. The Indians from all the 
country around were to be there, and they were to have a great feast. As 
they expressed it, "Mucha eat, mucha music, mucha dance, mucha gamble." 
During the next two weeks we saw great going to and fro about the rancheria. 
There was much preparation and an air of busy excitement pervaded the 
place. As the time drew near great baskets full of acorn meal, bread and 
soup were cooked ; this was done by stirring the meal into water with a stick, 
quite thin for soup, and thicker for bread. Smooth stones were heated in a 
fire on the ground nearb}^ and dropped into the mixture ; when cool they were 
taken out and more hot ones put in, until the mass was cooked to the proper 
consistency. The bread came out in soggy lumps ; the soup was thin and 
scooped up with clamshells. They pounded and compounded large basket- 
fuls of dried fish, seeds, and dried grasshoppers, and these delicacies were, 
no doubt, as appetizing to them as salted almonds, ripe olives or salads are 
to us. 

43 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



On the evening before the eventful (hiy many guests arrived from the 
surrounding places, but there was no mcrr\niaking that night, and we ob- 
served that their fires were out early. The next morning they began to arrive 
betimes — in large parties, in small parties, in fours and twos, marching in 
perfect silence, one before the other in Indian file. Sometimes one Indian 
came alone. ])ut never a squaw alone. All the morning they came, until the 
space about the ranchcria was crowded full. It was interesting to watch them 
from our u])])er windows; 1 do not renK'ml)er the number, if 1 e\'er knew, Ijut 
I know it was up in the hundreds. 

About three o'clock they began the feast, and kept it u]) four or fi\-e 
hours. We had been invited to "come see." so, after our evening meal, we 
went among them. We found the men sitting on the ground in small parties 
around baskets of the different foods eating in perfect silence, as if it were 
a performance on which their lives depended. The women were in attendance, 
but when 'M- where they partook of the feast, or whether they partook at all, 
we could not learn. Soon after our arrival the baskets were whisked away 
almost in a moment and the dance began. The Indian men stood in rows, 
one before the other, each with his right hand on his neighbor's shoulder ; 
silently they formed in many lines. At a given signal they all joined in a 
quaint chant of a few Indian words, repeating them continually, and began 
to move in a half trotting, half gliding kind of quickstep forward. I^ackward 
and in circles, crossing each other's lines and coming back to the beginning 
over and over wdth the most perfect time and regularity. The music was a 
low wail, but the rhythm was perfect. Their movements in unison were 
most grotescjue — s])asmodic jerks, jumps and serpentine cur\es, and they 
looked as solemn as if they Avere performing the last sad rites for ihe dead. 
The squaws stood on the outside of the charmed circle in pleased excitement, 
as if the privilege of looking at such a performance were one of the greatest 
that could be accorded them. They seemed to participate in nothing but the 
lal)or. They oft'ered us some of the food, but we declined, telling them we 
were "Xo mucha hoongree." 

Soon the dance closed and then small tires were made all about the 
grounds to provide light, and they sat around them in small parties and com- 
menced their games. They were played with little sticks of various lengths 
and values. The game seemed simple enough, but they became very much 
excited over it. and often gambled away everything they possessed. 

We could hear their strange, weird chant from our windows until the 
day dawned, then they rolled themselves in their blankets and slept. The 
next day and the next they repeated the same program, and then departed 
as solemnly as they had come. 

Their rancherias or villages were a group of houses built close together, 
probably for protection, but with no attempt at systematic arrangement as to 
streets or other regularity. They scooped out round holes in the ground, 
averaging from twelve to eighteen feet in diameter and five or six feet deep; 
over these they fastened willow poles, building them up five or six feet higher, 
which they covered with brush and mud. rounded and smoothed oft'; they 
looked like an old-fashioned stone jug, with a hole in the to]) for ingress and 
egress. Small foot-tracks or sort of steps were made in the mud while soft 
by which to climb to the top; these mu<l huts, when dried in the sun. were 
quite durable. 

Passing one of the villages one day we were startled to hear prolonged 
and dismal wailing, but saw not a sign of life anywhere. We traced the 
sounds to one of the houses, thinking some one must be in great distress : 

44 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



climbed up the round roof (no small feat considering the diminutive tracks) 
and a piteous picture presented itself as we looked down. An Indian woman 
was crouched on the smooth ground floor, swaying herself backwards and 
forwards, and at each movement sending forth a peculiar hollow monotonous 
wail. Her hair was cut short, her face painted black and her hands busy 
making a basket. We spoke to her but she did not answer. We tried to 
attract her attention, but she would not look up. She was mourning for her 
dead. She had been left alone to bear her trouble as best she might, but even 
in her despair her hands must not be idle. She was allowed no time to spend 
in the luxury of grief. The Indian women were seldom idle. They were 
seen daily going forth on the plains, with their pointed baskets strapped on 
their shoulders, the band crossing the forehead, and often with the papoose 
in it, to gather seeds, grasshoppers or other foodstufifs in their season. The 
women dried the fish or prepared the general supplies for storing; they made 
all the baskets, prepared the feathers for their many uses, and performed 
all the drudgery, while the men, like all North American Indians, did the. 
hunting and fishing or fought their savage battles. 

0\\^ incident stands out in my memory showing that a squaw can be 
brave in the face of danger: Wild Texas cattle and wild horses ranged the 
plains and came to the ri\'er dailv for water. One morning we heard the rush 
and roar of a stampeding herd that had been frightened by something into a 
mad race. Our little girl had strayed farther away from home than was safe 
in gathering the beautiful wild flowers. Imagine our horror when we saw her 
in the immediate course of the maddened herd. We could not reach her! We 
could see no way of escape for her ! Just when the infuriated animals were 
within a few yards of her what was our surprise and thankfulness to see an 
Indian woman rush out in the face of so much danger, seize the child and 
bear her to a place of safety. It was a brave deed, a heroic deed, which many 
a white woman might have failed or feared to do under similar circumstances. 

Memories throng upon me — memories of pathetic burials in the strange 
land, of a young man, full of vigor and hope, thrown from his mule, dead in 
a moment, far away from home and all he held dear, whom we laid awa}^ 
sorrowfully, tenderly, beneath a noble oak, the wind sighing through its leafy 
branches was his only requiem ; memories of a mother carried to her prairie 
grave, taken from her little ones in the land of strangers ; of a father snatched 
away in life's prime ; of dire diseases ; of sufferings and long journeyings for 
physicians and help ; memories, too, of jolly picnics, when, packed into all 
sorts of wagons, carts, and an occasional buggy, with plenty of horseback 
riders, we drove away to some interesting spot on the banks of Stony Creek 
or crossed the river to the beautiful groves about Chico, where we spent happy 
days in feast and song and great goodfellowship ; memories of Christmas and 
New Year festivities, when few were met together and old-home customs 
were kept up ; memories of the great balls, held in the big halls, which in 
those days were always connected with the hotels, where there was good 
music, a grand supper, pretty dresses and much merrymaking. Everybody 
attended, meeting as strangers, parting as friends. 

Those stirring times are passed, with all their strange happenings, but 
they still live in the hearts of the few who are left who suffered and enjoyed 
the sorrows and the pleasures of those early California days. 



45 



H i s t 7^ i c Facts and Fancies 




(Talifornia's ^\x%X American Scl)Ool 
and Its Oeacl)er 

(lalpiii Shakcs|)eare Club, Los Angeles, Cal. 

WAGON train of emigrants from what was then the frontier, 
now the Middle West of the United States, called a halt at 
Johnson's ranch, on Bear River, Octolicr i, 1846. They were 
overjoyed to come once more u])on a human habitation and 
to meet the first new faces thev had seen since thev left Fort 
Hall. 

'"Can you tell us," was their first question, "how much 
farther we shall have to travel to reach California?" 
"Why, you are in California now," was the surprising reply. Reliex'ed 
to find the end of the long journey so near, they camped at the ranch for 
several days to rest themselves and their jaded animals after six weary months 
of overland travel, three weeks of which were consumed in finding a passage 
over the mountains that rim California on its eastern side. 

This was the party of pioneers under command of Captain Joseph Aram, 
one of the first companies that crossed the Sierras to California and the second 
that succeeded in getting his wagons intact over the rugged, unbroken trails. 
They blazed the w^ay over plain, desert and mountain for the many thousands 
who were to follow in subsequent years. They were "old settlers" when the 
world learned of the discovery of gold and the great rush of forty-nine set in. 
"We came too early, Eli, we came too early; we should have waited until 
forty-nine," the subject of this story was wont to say sadly in later years to 
a fellow traveler of the early days, when the first pioneers seemed to be for- 
gotten and the "forty-niners" were occupying the center of the stage and 
more than their share of the limelight. 

Captain Aram's company had come from Illinois and \\'isconsin. More 
than one of them was destined to act no small part in the stirring scenes that 
followed swiftly in the great California drama. Moving spirits in this early 
emigration to the Pacific Coast were Doctor Isaac Chauncey Isbell and his 
wife Olive ]Mann Isbell of Greenbush, 111., who were the children of New York 
pioneers to the western reserve of Ohio in the early settlement of that State. 
Olive Mann was born in Ashtabula. Ohio, August 8, 1824. She was given the 
best educational advantages that the schools of her day and locality afiforded. 
After completing her studies she taught for some little time in the district 
schools in the neighborhood of her home. In her twentieth year she was 
married at \Vadsworth, Medina County. New York, March 10, 1844, to Dr. 
I. C. Isbell, a young physician who had just been graduated from Western 
Reserve College. In the July following they w^nt to Greenbush. 111., a small 
town surrounded by rich farming country twenty miles from the Mormon 
settlement of Nauvoo. They arrived at their new home in the midst of the 
excitement that ensued upon the death of Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet, 
which occurred in the month of June of that year. Dr. Isbell was so success- 
ful in the practice of his profession in Greenbush that when he started for 
California, some two years later, he had the snug sum of two thousand dollars 
in cash, after pro\iding an exceptionally good outfit of animals, wagons, 
clothing and supplies for himself and wife. That amount of money was a 

46 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



small fortune in its day for young people to possess, and one which saved 
them, Mrs. Isbell often said, many of the hardships suffered by other pioneers 
less fortunate in purse than themselves. 

From the time of Smith's death until the great exodus to Salt Lake, 
Mormon raids on the settlers of southern Illinois were frequent and oppres- 
sive. They were robbed of horses, cattle and crops at the whim of every 
band of Mormon marauders from Nauvoo, who chose to ride up to their 
doors and make a demand on them, under what Smith's followers called "a 
command of the Lord." The whole neighborhood was restless and terror- 
stricken under these outrages, and many determined to leave that part of 
the country and seek homes elsewhere. While several families in Greenbush 
were considering the question of where to go, some letters were received in 
the village from former neighbors who had moved from there the year before 
to Oregon, then just being opened to settlement. Soon after this there fol- 
lowed a pamphlet on California, written by the late General Bidwell, which 
was published in St. Louis. All that year excitement had run high and the 
long winter evenings were spent in neighborhood gatherings around big 
hearth fires discussing and weighing the respective merits of Oregon and 
California, with scant information to judge by and no exact knowledge of 
wdiere either country was situated. Dr. Isbell entered into correspondence 
with other persons in the surrounding territory ; among these were the families 
of George and Jacob Donner of Springfield. The outcome of this westward-ho 
fever was, a little party of "soldiers of fortune" left Greenbush on the morning 
of April 17, 1846, and some days later a train of twenty-three wagons crossed 
the Mississippi River opposite Fort Madison, Iowa, some bound for Oregon 
and the minority for California. A misunderstanding sent the Donner party, 
who was to have met them there, to the lower crossing at Keokuk, and they 
thus missed each other nine days. "Not one of us knew where California was," 
said Mrs. Isbell in relating the story to the writer, except that it was some- 
where on the western rim of the continent, near the Pacific Ocean. 

At Mt. Pleasant, then merely a small cluster of log cabins, they or- 
ganized themselves into a company and elected Charles Imus, captain. Later 
he was succeeded by Joseph Aram, who brought the party through. In St. 
Joseph they hired Antoine Rubidoux as guide and interpreter and provided a 
"large supply of beads and trinkets for barter with the Indians. Adhering 
strictly to the directions of Rubidoux in their dealings with the Indians, the 
company had no trouble whatever with any tribe through whose country they 
passed, and the chiefs all came to trade and often assisted in finding and re- 
turning stock strayed from the travelers' herds. After a lifetime of experience, 
Mrs. Isbell was firmly of the opinion to the day of her death that most of the 
subsequent trouble with the red man was of the white man's making. 

Above, a sky of boundless blue, 

Below, the green, green sod. 
And, oh! and, oh! between the two 

Went the wonderful winds of God. 

Such were the plains sixty years ago — miles and miles of tall lush grasses 
and brilliant vvildflowers of the prairie, as far as the vision could carry ; not a 
dwelling anywhere save trappers' huts and Indian teepees between St. Joseph and 
Fort Laramie ; not a wagon track to guide them nor a footstep to follow to the 
wide horizon's rim. The first sign of civilization was seen at Fort Laramie. 
Here they gave the Indians a great feast that insured their safety all the rest 
of the way across, and here they fell in with two other companies, Oregon bound. 

47 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



At Fort 1 lull they received the first information of the war l)et\veen Mexico 
and the United States from a man who had ridden into the fort that mornini;- 
with his wife on one horse and two cliildren strapped on another, fieeing' terror- 
stricken from CaUfornia. He declared that if the Aram party went on they would 
all be killed before they reached the mountains. This news created great excite- 
ment in the fort; women wept and beg^ged to be taken back to their Eastern homes, 
the men were perplexed and uncertain whether to turn back or t^o forward. 

"What shall we do. Olive?" asked Dr. Isbell of his wife. 

"1 started f(;>r California and I want to j:^"o on."" replied the brave-hearted 
woman. 

"We will s^o on.'" resj^onded her husl)and turning' to the j^roup of men stand- 
ing near. 

This decision gave courage to others, and the entire com])anv continued on 
the journey, though there were tears and entreaties from many of the UKithers 
with little children. Forty miles from Fort Flail the company that had traveled 
so long together came to the jiarting of the ways, those bound for Oregon con- 
tinued on the Oregon trail, which they had all followed across the plains. When 
they separated there was not a dry eye in either companv. The Californians and 
their animals suffered extremely in crossing the desert, and equally as much in 
another way in crossing the Sierra Nevada mountains with their wagons. They 
followed their Indian guide through W^eber Canyon, though they were met by 
Hastings who tried to induce them to take the "cut-ofif." which ])roved so fatal 
to the Donner party, who followed them two weeks later and whom they had 
passed at (iravelly Ford. 

At the head of 15ear River the Aram party camped a few days to rest after 
their hard traveling in the mountains and to do the necessary family washings in 
the stream. On taking the towels from the bushes where they were hung to dry 
Mrs. Aram and Mrs. Fsbell observed that they were heavy with a mineral sub- 
stance that glistened in the sunlight. 

"What do you supi:>ose this is. ()live?"" said !\Irs. Aram, examining the towels 
closely. 

"I don"t know," replied Mrs. Lsbell. "but I believe it is isinglass."" 

A few years later, when some of the richest diggings were found on Hear 
Kiver. the ladies concluded that they had ])een the original discoverers of gold! 

Indian guides, sent by Fremont, met the party at the foot of the mountains 
to direct it to Johnson's ranch. While in camp there Fremont came in person to 
escort the emigrants to Sutter"s Fort, where they arrived October lo. 1846. and 
remained one week. Captain Sutter won their lifelong gratitude and warm friend- 
ship by his kindness and generous hospitality while they were imder his roof. 
In charge of Dr. Isbell and directed by bVemont. they went to the Santa Clara 
Mission where they were to tind shelter for the winter; I'renKtnt meanwhile 
enlisted all the able-bodied men to reinforce his small command, then pre]")aring 
to go south to join Stockton at San Diego to retake Los Angeles, which had been 
taken by the Mexicans. 

The old adobe buildings of the Mission, fast crumbling to decay, were not an 
inviting shelter to the already homesick emigrants, if shelter they could be called 
at all. There were no floors save the hard-baked earth, no windows nor fireplaces, 
no escape for the smoke but a hole in the roof. The section assigned to the party 
had been used for stabling horses ; the ancient walls were infested with fleas and 
vermin, and the broken tiles on the roof let in the water almost as generously as 
it fell outside. Rains came early and heavy that year, with strong southwest 
winds, which, with the inadec|uate accommodations and |)oor food. ])ractically 
none but government rations, caused an e])i(lemic of "emigrant fever"" or tyi)hoid 

48 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



pneumonia in the Mission. There were more sick than well among the Americans, 
and many died amid the most distressing" surroundings. 

Dr. Isbell went with Fremont as far as the Salinas River, where he was 
seized with the prevailing disease and compelled to return to the Mission. For 
six weeks his wife watched at his bedside and took care of many others besides, 
never removing her clothing to rest day nor night. From their well-stocked 
chest of drugs, brought across the plains, she dealt out on an average one hun- 
dred doses of medicine a day. War was in progress, they were in an enemy's 
country, with a foe speaking a strange language, and expected to be attacked at 
any time. At night, while others slept. Mrs. Isbell, with a gun beside her, 
molded bullets, determined if the worst came to assist with her own hands to 
defend the life of her husband and the helpless people in the Mission. 

Not long after the men left to guard the families discovered the natives 
concealing kegs of gunpowder in the walls to blow up the buildings. A mes- 
senger was sent at once to Captain Weber at San Jose for additional protection. 
He sent to Yerba Buena where he obtained twenty-five marines, who, under com- 
mand of Captain ]\Iarsden, started at once for the Mission. The report of guns 
firing in the distance was the first intimation that help was at hand. Climbing to 
the top of the old walls they saw the one field piece, hitched to a yoke of oxen, 
mired down in the deep mud of the roads and the marines working desperately 
to pull it out. Natives, ambushed in the chaparral, would run out, fire a volley 
at the Americans, and then scramble back to cover. Captain Marsden rode up to 
the ^Mission and asked for a white cloth to use as a flag of truce. Mrs. Tsbell 
handed him her wedding pocket handkerchief, which he accepted most gallantly 
and said he would send her a new dress if he got back to Yerba Buena. (In due 
time a dress of the best material he could find arrived, a blue and white calico, 
for which the captain paid one dollar a yard.) Two of the marines were wounded 
in the afifray. but neither of them seriously. Mrs. Isbell dressed the wounds and 
the women who were able prepared dinner for the captain and his men. This was 
the much-disputed battle of Santa Clara, as seen by an eye-witness. 

In December, 1846, more to relieve convalescent mothers of the care of their 
little ones than for the actual benefit they might gain from study, Mrs. Isbell 
gathered the children together and opened a small free school in an old adobe 
building too dilapidated to be used for any other purpose. There were no black- 
board, no slates, no pencils nor paper, and only a few books that had been stowed 
away in odd corners of the overland baggage and somehow escaped when loads 
were lightened in crossing the desert. To eke out the educational appliances the 
teacher wrote the letters of the alphabet on the backs of little hands with a pencil 
of lead. A daughter of Captain Aram, still living in Los Angeles, remembers that 
she learned the shape of the letter E from the back of her tiny hand. There was 
no way of heating the room except by a fire built on the floor. Hard rains and 
a heavy atmosphere prevented the smoke from escaping through the roof, and 
more often than not the teacher and her pupils pursued knowledge with smarting 
eyes and tear-wet faces. 

In April, 1847, the Isbclls and several other families decided to go to Mon- 
terey with their teams to build fortifications, but when they arrived there they 
learned for the first time that the war was over and California was in possession 
of the United States. News of the little school at the A-Iission had reached Mon- 
terey — the teacher's fame had preceded her. To her great surprise she was 
awakened from a sound sleep on the night of her arrival to meet the United States 
Consul, Thomas O. Larkin, Milton Little and H. T. Green, prominent business 
men, who had come to urge her to open an English-speaking school in Monterey. 
After some persuasion she consented, Mr. Green agreeing to take the financial 

49 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



management of the enter|irise. The compensation was to be six dollars per pnpil 
for a term of three months. A room in the cnstom-honse building, over the jail, 
was secured and fitted up with desks and seats. School opened with twenty-five 
pupils, but every little while a mother appeared with another child or two, until 
the number swelled to fifty-six. Not more than half of the scholars were supplied 
with books, and some of these had been left by a trading vessel. ]\Ir. Larkin 
helped out with supplies of writing paper. The teacher dicl not know a word of 
the Spanish language, and only two of the children, the Abrigo boys, who had 
been tutored by W. II. P. Hartnell, knew English. Rev. ^^'alter Colton. the first 
American alcalde of Monterey and author of that delightful book, "Three Years 
in California," assisted the teacher, and the pupils made satisfactory progress. 
Thus the educational system of this great State had its primitive beginning. At 
the end of the term jilrs. Isbell closed her career as a schoolma'am, but the 
honor of opening and teaching the first American schools in California is unde- 
niablv hers. 

In the meantime Dr. Isbell responded to a popular and urgent demand and 
with a partner opened the first American hotel in Monterey, while at the same 
time engaging in the practice of his profession. During the spring and summer 
all the noted men in the country were its guests. The old register, which may 
be extant, should show the names of Fremont, Colonel Sherman, Lieutenant Ord, 
Commodores Shubrick and Stockton, General Kearny, Colonel Mason, Captains 
Weber and Marsden, Kit Carson, and many others who w^ere prominent in the 
formative period of California. 



Olive ^ttttunUsbell 

Current Events Club. 

Note. — The love and esteem cherished by those who knew tlie subject of this sketcli 
and the preceding are clearly shown. Steps are being taken to erect a numument to her 
memory. — F. O. B. 

N the early part of 1899 there passed away in Santa Paula a pioneer 
woman of California, one who was an actual participant in many 
of the stirring scenes of its early history, and one to whom honor 
and veneration are due from the teachers and educators of the 
State. This woman was ]\Irs. Olive Mann Isbell, the teacher of 
the first American school in California. 

Olive Mann was born in Ashtabula county, Ohio, in 1824. 
At the age of twenty she married Dr. I. Chauncey Isbell and 
removed with him to Warren county, Illinois. In the beginning of the "California 
fever," due mostly to Fremont's wonderful journeys, and long before the gold 
discovery, the Isbells left Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, April 17, 1846, with a comi)any in 
twenty-three wagons, on the long and perilotis journey to the Coast. At a pass in 
the Sierra Nevada they were met by Fremont himself and escorted to the ^Mission 
of Santa Clara, where they arrived October i6th, having been exactly six months 
on their overland journey. 

About the middle of December, 1846, in compliance with the wish of her com- 
panions, Mrs. Isbell opened a school. The whole overland coni])any was housed 
in the old Mission buildings, which enclosed four sides of a great court, and the 
school was held in one of the rooms opening upon this f^atio. The floor was earth, 
the seats were boxes. An opening in the tile roof, over the center of the room, 

50 




Historic Facts and Fancies 



allowed the smoke to escape when, on rainy days, a fire was built on a rude plat- 
form of stones set in the middle of the floor. Later, Mrs. Isbell taught a similar 
school of American immigrant children in a similar room in Monterey. From 
that time on for ten years Mrs. Isbell's life was a part of the history of the State. 

Mrs. Isbell resided in Santa Paula for many years, where she drew around 
her a circle of many warm friends. Her death occurred on the 25th of March, 
1899. 

A movement has lately been begun by the Current Events Club of Santa 
Paula to honor this noble woman by placing a suitable monument over her grave 
in the Santa Paula Cemetery. 



OxK.<i of tl)e Carl^ Scl)Ool5 

Country Club, Alameda County. 

HISTORY of the pioneer educational work done in California 
w^ould be incomplete if no mention were made of the private 
school for girls which w^as established in Marysville in 1857, and 
which was known as Mrs. Poston's Seminary. 

Mrs. E. C. Poston, the founder of the above-mentioned 
school, a South Carolinian by birth, came to this State from Ten- 
nessee as early as 1856, and began her work as a teacher here 
in an ungraded country school near The Buttes, in Sutter county. 
One year later she came into Marysville and opened her school on E street. 
From the first her venture proved successful. The attendance, small at the 
opening, steadily increased, and by the end of the school year, in 1862, it became 
necessary to secure more commodious quarters. 

Mrs. Poston then purchased the home of Judge Lindley, located opposite the 
Courthouse, at the corner of 6th and D streets. The dwelling house was re- 
modeled for the boarding department of the school, a large and convenient brick 
building, for an assembly hall and classrooms, was erected and the seminary 
entered upon a new era of prosperity and usefulness. 

The principal employed always an efficient corps of assistants which often 
included college-bred men and professors, such as Rev. Mr. Stoy, Rev. Mr. Rhus, 
Rev. Mr. Brodt, Mr. W. C. Belcher, Prof. Schwarzmann ; and among her lady 
assistants may be named Miss Jewett, Miss Hayes, Miss McCormick, Miss Lan- 
sing, Miss Cole, Miss Parsons, Miss Curtis, Miss Masson and others. 

As the school became better known it increased in popularity with parents 
in the mining regions of the State, as well as with residents in the nearby valley 
counties. They were glad to place their daughters under Mrs. Poston's care, 
knowing that while they pursued their studies in the schoolroom their manners 
and morals would receive attention, and, if in the boarding department of the 
school, they would enjoy the benefits of living in a refined and well-ordered home. 
In 1873, fo^ sanitary reasons, the school was moved to Oakland and re-opened 
on Oak street, where it was successfully conducted eight years longer, till 1881. 
Then Mrs. Poston's health gave way and she was forced to close her school. 
She went to Europe, hoping by rest and recreation to win back the strength spent 
in so many years of continuous and arduous labor as a teacher. She remained 
abroad some eight years, returning at the end of that time in improved health, 
but not sufficiently strong again to take up a teacher's work except as a teacher 

51 



Historic Facts a 72 d Fancies 



of languages to small private classes. For some years Mrs. Poston. now (1907) 
an octogenarian, has been a resident of San Francisco. There, surrounded by an 
a])preciative and sympathetic circle of her "girls." most of whom are grav-haired 
mothers and grandnK)thers. she enjoys the reward of a faithful teacher's lifework 
in knowing that those whom she taught have become women of superior worth 
and beautv of character. 




Dfome of (Governor Jpio 4^ico 

Woman's Improvement Chd). 

was in the last days of the Spanish dons. Already at Sutter's 
mill had been found the first golden gleams which led to the 
mighty, mad rush of '49. Already General I'remont had begun 
that memorable movement which was to end in the overthrow 
of Mexican authority in California. But all unconscious of the 
coming change. Pio Pico, the last [Mexican governor of Cali- 
fornia, was taking his wedding journey over the imiuense tracts, 
which were his by Spanish grant, so large and so varied in their 
location that it is said he could travel from San Francisco to San Diego and 
scarcely .step on another's land. Py the desire of his wife they were seeking a 
location for their permanent home. Knowing the spot which the morning's drive 
would reach. (lovernor Pico said. "Where we lunch today we will build our 
ln)me." And though the adobe is crumbling and the timbers, which were carried 
on the backs of Indians from San Pedro Harbor, twenty miles away, are decayed 
and falling, the Pico mansion still stands, a monument to the wisdom of the 
S]:)aniard's choice. 

On the east side of the San Gabriel River, about two miles from the city of 
Whittier on the main road to Los Angeles, stands this old adobe building now 
crumbling in ruins. As one approaches from either side the impression is of a 
house of modest proportion, but on entering the grounds and making a more 
extended survey, one is surprised to find a capacious dwelling-house of seventeen 
rooms. It is built after the old Spanish custom, around an open court. This 
court is tiled with brick and has in its center a finely constructed and well- 
preserved well, which for many years supplied the house with excellent water. 

As one views the ancient structure, a portion of which was built in i82(). it 
is difficult to realize that these walls, now so sadly battered and crumbling with 
decay, are all that remain of the country home of Don Pio Pico, last Mexican 
governor of California. It is strangely in contrast with the house thus descrilx'd 
by Henry D. Purrows, who visited it in the '6o's : "I have been in the memorable 
adobe house of Governor Pico at I\anchito, when it was his home, but I know 
very little of its history. I only know that at that period, the house white and 
neat and the gardens around it, and the beautiful ranchito or hacienda of which 
they were a part, were well worthy of being the country-seat or home of an 
honored governor of ])rimitive California." 

Though in a state of ruin, the house still retains much of interest. Its 
broad porches, gabled roof, the old stairway, the walls and partitions still intact, 
give a suggestion of what it has been. The construction of the house is very 
peculiar and seems weird and uncanny to the present generation, with its many 
rooms and high ceilings; few windows, and numerous doors; some rooms en- 
tirely without light, excei)t what reaches them from open doors, through long 

52 



Historic Facts and Fancies 

corridors ; exceedingly small fireplaces, built into the adobe wall without re- 
enforcement of brick or extension into the room, and such tiny places for fire. 
There are no closets of any description, but a few shelves in one room. In the 
floor of two rooms are trap-doors which are supposed to lead to old wine cellars. 
From the spot Governor Pico selected there is a fine view of mountain, hill, 
and valley. The soil is fertile and well adapted to the culture of the grape, fig, 
olive, and orange, and it is altogether probable that the humble home of some of 
Don Pico's retainers was already established here. The Governor being thor- 
oughly familiar with the country and distances could safely say, "Where we 
lunch today we will build our home." That this country was in a state of 
cultivation we infer from the establishment of the old mission at the head of the 
San Gabriel Valley, only a few miles distant. 

\\'hcn this spot was chosen for a home the San Gabriel River was miles 
away ; its channel being along the western side of the valley. With time it has 
changed its course and a large part of the home grounds have been swept away, 
as these grounds extended one-half mile west and comprised a fine orange orchard 
and a variety of other fruits. The river has further encroached on the property 
until it later carried away two rooms and an elaborate veranda from the west side 
of the building. In this fine old mansion many of the noblest and best of the 
early Californians found entertainment, for the Governor was hospitable and 
generous — "A gentleman of the old school."' 

Pico's position as Governor of California, under appointment of the Mexican 
government, gave him a large circle of business and social friends. These he 
delighted to entertain, and, doubtless, the old adobe walls could tell tales of great 
social events, much merriment and revelry. 

A man possessed of such large properties as Don Pico had, of necessity, a 
large retinue of dependents and retainers. Many of the houses occupied by 
these people stood near the road immediately opposite the mansion as late as 
1890. In this cluster of adobe buildings stood the chapel so dear to every 
Spanish or Mexican estate. Mrs. Strong, who occupied the Pico mansion for 
some years in the '6o's and who has since been familiar with the surroundings, 
tells us that this chapel was in a fair state of preservation until a comparatively 
few years ago, when its walls were used to make approaches to the bridge over 
the San Gabriel, then in process of construction. Only her timely intervention 
saved the old house from the same vandal hands. Here also stood the mill used 
for grinding corn, one stone of which has been preserved. 

Sorrow and disappointment came to the don in his old age. The old Spanish 
hospitality and generosity, the lack of business knowledge, the modern rush of 
civilization, all combined to leave him penniless, a pensioner until his death in 
1894, upon the love and bounty of friends. 

One can scarce imagine a more doleful picture than this old man of 90, 
viewing, as he passed through its portals in 1891, for the last time, the great 
acres over which he had held sway — all gone, the property of others. 

The old Pico homestead has become the property of the town of Whittier, 
and it is the intent of the women's clubs of the community to purchase the 
property and restore it as far as is possible, that it may become a historical 
.storehouse for earlv California treasures. 



53 




Historic Facts and Fancies 



Hfistor^ of Orange (TountY 

Santa Ana Woman's Club. 

IvAXGE county, one of the smallest counties in California, and not 
so very old in years, has its share of history-making- landmarks 
of the past. We always call the visitor's attention to the old 
San I nan Capistrano Alission. for. as the years go by. this old 
landmark of a time when people worked and planned with a 
loyalty devoted to what they thought was right, makes us of 
today respect their efforts without any thought of their creed or 
religious views. 
Then we have the "Camino Real." across the county from north to south. 
In the very southwestern corner of Orange county is a rather small hill, some- 
times called "Anaheim Landing" hill, as the old landing, warehouse, and wharf 
w^ere at its foot that touched the ocean on the south. On the west side of this 
hill is a slough, sometimes called New River Slough, where for uncounted ages 
frogs have held "grand opera." unmolested, except by wild ducks and geese, until 
civilization, accompanied as usual with a gun, has depopulated the wild-fowl 
families, almost to extinction of late years. 

Away back in what some of the old settlers call "Fremont's Campaign," a 
company of soldiers were sent to watch for certain Mexican troops that were 
expected to land somewhere along the coast. They made pits, or entrenchments, 
on the east side of this hill, that are still visible. Major E. A. Sherman, of Sloat 
Monument fame, a veteran of the ^Mexican War, writes me that he visited this 
hill in 185 1 and remembers it distinctly, and that during the Civil War another 
comi)any of soldiers occupied the hill, waching for the landing of the enemy's 
troops. Wdio the officers or men of either company were I have not been able 
to find out positively ; but it is certainly worthy of notice that ditches, made by 
United States soldiers in 1846, which have not had any special care taken to pre- 
serve them during all these years, and which are still visible and silent reminders 
of what we might call strenuous times, deserve, at least, a little recognition. It 
might well be said that these ditches were the footprints of those who helped to 
make California United States territory. Very, very few of the Mexican War 
veterans are left to tell us what was what, or who was who ; and I have found 
cases where even they did not agree on the merits of the case. So how are we 
to obtain and preserve for the future the facts and figures of our own State's 
history, and give honor where honor is due? More names should be enrolled on 
the scroll of fame, for those who were worthy and true should not be allowed 
to sink into oblivion, and, perhaps, in after years, have their honors claimed by 
some i^retender. 

The History and Landmarks Committee is engaged in a most laudable work, 
and the work well performed can never be computed in dollars and cents in its 
true worth to those of the future. May success be yours. 



54 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




GLACIER POINT, YOSEMITE. 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



JB 


iL/i 


Wi 


K 


^ 


::gf_ 



Oakland from tl)e iDa^s of Sir Jf^rancis iDrake 
to tl)05e of president Roosevelt 

( )aklan(l Clul). 

I c)l)tain a vivid ihou^li lii,L;!ily ctili n-fd ])icturc of tlic man- 
ner of life and the a])pearance of the natives who dwelt 
on the eastern shores of the bay of the Golden (iate in 1579 
from the narrative of Admiral Drake's visit to the inlet, 
on the coast of INIarin county, now called by his name. The 
sim])licity and timidity of the Indians awakened surprise, 
and we are told of the memorable interview between the ruler 
of the principal tribe of that reg'ion and the strang"ers. '"a 
very comely person carrying- a sort of sceptre on which were two crowns made 
of network, curiously wrout^ht with feathers and three lon^- chains formed of 
bone." ])receded "the handsome and majestic kinj^." who was attended b\- a 
retinue of very tall men and followed by a horde of common people. In the 
pantomimic exchanoe of compliments that ensued, we are assured that the i^en- 
erous resident monarch tendered to his white visitor his kingdom, which was 
promptly and graciously accepted in the name of Queen Elizabeth, a thrifty 
sovereign, who cordially approved of annexing any territory not already held 
by acknowledged powers. To emi)hasize the transaction. Drake at once set up 
a pillar bearing the name, picture, arms and title to the new domain of his royal 
mistress, who on his return signified her appreciation of the gift of New Albion, 
as it was styled bv the Englishman, by bestowing knighthood upon him ; had 
not her wars with her brother-in-law King Philip and disturbances in her imme- 
diate realm fulh' taxed her resources, she would no doubt have enforced her 
putative claim to these remote lands. S]xiin. who ])rofessed to hold sway over 
all of the Pacific Coast explored 1)\- C'abrillo. had similar reasons to jjrcvent 
aggressive nieasures in the west on her part, beyond a furtive effort at further 
examination of her new territory made by \'izcaino in i()02, who with three 
vessels, by order of the X'iceroy of Mexico, sailed northward, touching at several 
points in Lower California, spending ten days in the port of San Diego, anel 
entering a noble roadstead further on. to which he gave the name of Monterey, 
in honor of the \'iceroy; one of his diips is said to have continued its course to 
the Coknnbia. but X'izcaino returned, bringing a rough chart of his course, full 
of enthusiasm regarding tlie s])lcndi(l liay of Montere\-, but no further steps to 
investigate its value followed. 

The natives, wdiose beauty and amiability had been extolled by Sir h'rancis 
Drake, reiuained undisturbed in their sim])le life for almost two hundred years, 
during which lime the\- diminished greatl}- in numbers and sadly deteriorated in 
physi(|ue. In i/fxj the Jesuits were expelled fr(tm all .Spanish territory, leaving 
an open field for the Eranciscans, who yearned with ])ious zeal for the conversion 
of the heathen; the government also awakened to the value of the two Cali- 
fornir.s and, the niission at San Diego having been successfully established, Jose 
(le Galvez, visitor-general from Spain, on Jul\- i4tli sent l)\- land (las])ar de 
Portola, Governor of the Californias, with a ])art\- of civilians, two ])riests and 
a detachment of soldiers, to be niet by a sailing ex])edition in two schooners at 
the splendid harbor of Monterey, where it was pro])osed to lay the foundations 
of a grand central niission under the seal of the secular government. The only 
guide for lioth parties was the ancient and imperfect, tliough carefully ])reservecl, 
maj) of \'i/.caino. It is small wonder that Portola and his men passed near the 

56 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



port they sought without recoguizing" it ; the vessels they exi)ected to see had 
fared ill, their supply of water gave out, and they turned back before reaching 
Monterey. 

The Governor found himself in trying circumstances ; the march had been 
full of difficulties ; of his small command many had scurvy, some were helpless 
and had to be carried on litters, all were weary and disappointed, but he pushed 
on, still searching" for the missing harbor. On the night of October 30th he 
camped on the place now occupied by the town of Half Moon Bay. Setting out 
next day with his discouraged followers, he climbed to the top of a steep ridge 
and saw, far in the distance, Point Reyes, with the Farallone Islands to seaward, 
and knew what he had long feared — that he had gone by the desired haven, and 
naught remained but to retrace his steps — but, before turning back, he wisely 
decided to give three days to examining the country that was spread before his 
eyes: he accordingly sent a file of soldiers with Sergeant Ortega to reconnoiter, 
relaxing strict discipline to permit his men to hunt in the surrounding hills. On 
the night of November 2d, some of the hunters came in to bring exciting 
reports of a great arm of the sea they had found extending into the land, and 
November 3d saw the triumphant return of Ortega's detachment, firing guns and 
waving fiags to announce a similar discovery. 

Portola, on the morning of the 4th, broke camp, and marching northeastward, 
ascended the crest of the San Mateo hills, from whence he beheld that which 
repaid his travail of soul and fatigue of body. Below him lay the glorious Bay 
of San Francisco, which he exultantly compared to the Alediterranean Sea ; 
across the water he marked that fair eastern shore of the wonderful bay that 
now boasts three cities. His soldiers grudged his loitering on the mount of 
vision, so, like Aloses, he turned from the land he was not to enter, to pursue 
a route around the head of the bay, hoping to find a path to Point Reyes and 
from thence to Monterey, but the widening of the arm of the sea as they went 
suggested to his weary men alarming possibilities. 

Worn with hardship, with scanty store of food, grieving for comrades who 
had died in the wilderness, carrying with difficulty those who were unable to 
walk, facing the winter of an unknown climate, perhaps the hostility of Indians, 
all but Portola cried out to go back to San Diego, and he was forced to yield to 
the voice of the majority. It was a painful journey, as we learn from the diary 
of Father Crespi, one of the priests. Again on their homeward way, they missed 
the haven of their quest, though they found the near-by Point Pinos, where they 
stopped to bury the record of their wanderings, their sufl^erings, and their great 
discovery under a large wooden cross, bearing the inscription : "Dig at the foot 
of this and you will find a writing." The narrative closes with these words: "I 
beg of Almighty God to guide us, and for you, traveler, who may read this, that 
He may guide you also to the harbor of eternal salvation."" On the opposite side 
of the point they set up another cross, carving on its arms with a razor the 
]:)athetic statement : "The overland expedition from San Diego returned from 
this place on the 9th of December, 1769 — starving.'" It reached its destination 
on January 24, 1770, in pitiful condition, but its labors had not been fruitless. 
Padre Junipero Serra, who had been the head of the Franciscan movement to 
Christianize the savages and was at San Diego directing efforts to that end, had 
been pained that his patron saint had been given no mission, and asked Galvez 
to do him proper honor. The Visitor-General had replied that if Saint Francis 
desired such recognition he might show his adherents a suitable location, and the 
story of the splendid bay in the north seemed to point out that Providence had 
blinded Portola"s eyes to the proximity of Vizcaino's harbor to lead him to a 
nobler site for a religious and a government house. Wide-reaching plans for 

57 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



the occupation of the spot were laid by Padre Serra and Galvez, but the long 
journey, with its privations and uncertainties, consumed years. 

We learn that in 1773, Captain Juan Hautista with his party, coming from 
the re-discovered port of IMonterey, passed through the valley of San Jose, now 
a ])art of Alameda county, where a large drove of elk was encountered, but his 
face was set toward the arm of the sea. and he was not tempted to linger by the 
way. Twenty-three years later the founding of the mission San Jose in the 
valley of that name must have often brought the feet of white men across the soil 
U])on which ( )akland has since grown and tlourished, but there is only disparaging 
reference to it, made by Alberni, who was sent by Governor liorica to consider 
its qualifications for the site of a pueblo. 

In 1776 the aspirations of Padre Junipero Serra and the ambitions of 
Galvez were satisfied, the Mission of Saint Francis (the Mission Dolores) was 
completed shortly after the Presidio had been established, making that year as 
glorious to the Californians, as it was to the colonists on the Atlantic slope. 

One can but wonder if our forefathers, then struggling desperately to 
make valid their Declaration of Independence, ever heard of this triumph of 
Spain over a new land, wdiich in the fullness of time was to become part of their 
own wonderful possessions. 

Other missions were planted, families of wealth and standing grew up 
under their fostering care. Spain, rent by political dissensions at home, saw the 
wisdom of conciliating her subjects abroad. In 1S20 she selected Don Luis 
Maria Peralta as worthy of recognition : for his military service of more than 
forty years, for his valuable assistance in administering the afifairs of the ^Missions 
of San Jose, Santa Clara, and Santa Cruz, and for his patriarchal household of 
ten children. He was given a grant of five leagues of land, including the present 
sites of Alameda, Berkeley, Oakland and their environs ; in addition, a large tract 
in the Santa Clara Valley became his, the Mexican Government, succeeding that 
of Spain, ratified this title. The good Don Luis seems to have settled comfort- 
ably on the last-named rancho, bestowing the first on his four sons, who built a 
large house and dwelt together in accord, until the marriage of all suggested 
separate rooftrees. Therefore, in 1842, Don Luis rode over this grant, parceling 
out and setting bounds to the several allotments. He was still a vigorous man 
at the age of eighty-four, viewing with pride his goodly sons and the princely 
heritage which he had given them, and confidently looking forward to the per- 
petuation of his name for many generations. The brothers built homes and 
lived in the lavish and hospitable manner of their race ; the daughters were 
generously remembered, and the "two cows and calves" that formed a part of 
the dowry of each multiplied into bands. 

The war with the United States in its progress scarcely disturbed the 
Peraltas, but the advent of the Americans after the peace brought them cruel 
misfortune. The kindly father, dying at ninety-three, foresaw the beginning of 
the end of prosperity for his family and his race and of the pastoral and idyllic 
life in the encinals (oak groves) of Temescal and San Antonio — destined to be 
occupied by the men who laid the foundations of Oakland and Alameda. 

The discovery of gold brought to California the shrewdest and least 
scru])ulous of Anglo-Saxons, with whom the i'eraltas and their friends were ill- 
fitted to cope. The story of the purchase of their lands is the old one of Jacob 
and Esau, the craftier brother easily dispossessing the elder of his birthright. If 
fate decreed that the United States — daughter of England — filled with the 
masterful and adventurous spirit of her mother, should inherit the domain 
claimed for Good Queen Bess by Sir Francis Drake, one would fain wish that 
it should have come to her by kindlier treatment of the occupants. 

58 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



For the progress of the world, it is doubtless well that the Encinal de 
Temescal, where Drake's gentle savages may have fished and hunted and where 
Don Vincente Peralta's herds were pastured, should evolve into this city of 
homes for two hundred thousand people. Across the bay, which seemed to 
Portola's men so wide and perilous, twenty-two millions trips were made in 1906 
between these cities and that greater city of half a million people grown from 
the Mission Dolores — San Francisco. In spite of the injustice done to the former 
owners of the soil, Oakland has thriven ; fire has not greatly retarded her 
progress; the earthquakes of 1868 and 1906 touched her rather tenderly. She 
is proud of her fair children who play in the flowering yards which awaken the 
envy of our Eastern visitors ; proud of her young women and young men, who 
are the inheritors of the best of Anglo-Saxon blood, mingled with that of less 
aggressive races ; proud of her people and the beautiful city they have builded. 

The mother church of the saintly Padre Serra has kept its foothold on 
Oakland's soil, as has that of Sir Francis Drake's, whose service was read in 
Upper California three hundred and twenty-eight years ago, as the Prayer Book 
Cross in Golden Gate Park attests. Other houses of worship stand in her borders 
witnessing the faith of John Calvin, of John Wesley, of Alexander Campbell. 
Schools, public and private, are numerous and stately homes abound ; but alas ! 
and alas ! for the beautiful oaks that gave the city her Spanish as well as her 
English title — they have fallen. Short-sighted Oakland has permitted their 
destruction, and she has sinned also in allowing the musical Latin names of 
Encinal, Temescal, San Antonio and the like to be superseded by commonplace 
English names. However, she is young, she is strong, she is fair; she has broad 
lands and great opportunities, and her daughters, tender yet strong, and her 
sons, strong yet tender, work to make her stronger, fairer, better — a mighty city 
in Don Portola's fair domains of other days. 



New Century and Napa Study Club. 

HE old Bale Mill is situated about midway between the present 
towns of St. Helena and Calistoga, in Napa Valley, Cal., near 
the county road that runs along the base of the fir- and pine- 
clad hills of upper Napa Valley and near a beautiful little 
mountain stream whose banks are lined with huge live oaks 
and maples, and graceful alders festooned with wild grapevines 
in rich profusion. 

The mill was built by Dr. Edward T. Bale, a man of Eng- 
lish birth who came to California some time in the thirties. Soon after his 
arrival he fell in love with a beautiful and wealthy Spanish senorita whom he 
married. They settled in the upper part of Napa Valley, where he obtained 
from the Mexican Government two leagues of land. In 1846 he decided to 
build a flour mill near the center of his possessions. The chief diflrculty which 
confronted him was that of securing a mechanic to do the iron work, and for a 
while it seemed as though he were doomed to disappointment, for such me- 
chanics were exceedingly scarce at that early period in California. Finally he 
visited the camp of a company of immigrants, who had just crossed the plains 
with ox teams, having been seven months on the way. Among them he found 




59 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




THE OLD liALK MILL. 



a younj:^ mechanic with a good equipment of tools who possessed the re(|uisite 
skill. Notwithstanding the fact that he had never built a grist-mill before, he 
was a man of unusual originality and inventive genius, self-reliant, and soon 
convinced Dr. ]>ale that he could do tiie work satisfactorily. This young 
mechanic was my father, the late Florentine Erwin Kellogg. Dr. liale asked 
him why he came to California. The reply was, "To find a good climate and to 
get cheap land," to which the doctor answered, "I think we can fit you out 
with both." Accordingly, he was at once engaged to do the work. Dr. liale 
agreeing to pay for the same in land, about 600 acres of which wa.s recpiired 
to settle for the job, which was completed early in the year 1847. '^^'^^ \2a\(S. 
selected to be given in payment for the work was located on the opposite side 
of the little stream from where the mill was built, the stream forming the 
western boundary thereof. As a shelter for himself and family, consisting of 
his wife and three small children, F. E. Kellogg immediately built a temporary 
cabin on the site of an old Indian rancheria, about a stone's throw from the 
mill, which he very soon replaced by a residence that was quite imposing 
for that early period. Like the old mill it still stands as a consi)icuous lancl- 
mark of pioneer days. It is now owned and occupied ])y Mr. W. W. Lyman. 
The original mill-wheel was only twenty feet in diameter, and in the 
course of time it was found necessary to replace it with one thirty-six feet 
in diameter. The first cog-wheels wxre made of wood which caused a great 
racket when the mill was operated. The first burrs, or millstones, were 
quarried from the adjacent hills, and shaped by an Irishman by the name of 
John Conn who learned his trade as stonecutter in the old country. The first 

60 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



miller was a man by the name of Harrison Pierce, which sounds like a good 
old American name. The water to run the mill was at first taken directly from 
the stream, some distance above the mill, and was conducted to the overshot 
wheel by means of a flume made of troughs hewn out of redwood logs some- 
thing over two feet in diameter and eighteen or twenty feet in length, all 
joined together as snugly as possible, and supported on cribs built of redwood 
posts about the size of railroad ties. Later on the water was conveyed by 
means of a ditch to a large impounding reservoir, and an improved water- 
flume was installed. 

To this mill for twenty-five years the pioneer farmers brought their grists. 
In the very early daA's they cut their wheat b}^ hand with a scythe, piled it on 
the ground in circular corrals or pens, then put in a band of wild mustangs 
and drove them around over the straw until the wheat was tramped out, 
then with forks they pitched out the coarse straw, and winnowed out the 
chaff by tossing the grain, shovelful at a time, high into the air so that the 
wind could blow the chaff away, while the wheat, being heavier, fell on the 
ground comparatively clean, although not yet sufffciently clean to be ground 
into flour. To complete its preparation for the mill, it was finally put into a 
large trough hewn out of a redwood log, Avhere it was covered with water 
and then stirred until all the remaining chaff had floated to the surface and 
the sand and gravel had sunk to the bottom. The chaff was then skimmed off, 
the water withdrawn, and the wheat taken out and dried, care being taken 
not to shovel up with the grain any of the sand and gravel from the bottom of 
the trough. 

It took about three days to prepare a grist of ten bushels for the mill in 
this manner. Although we must admit that the methods of harvesting, thresh- 
ing, and grinding then, were somewhat slower than the present combined 
harvesters and roller flour-mills, nevertheless, we firmly maintain that the 
world will never taste any better bread, doughnuts, fritters, and flapjacks 
than were produced from the flour of the old Bale Mill. 

On the death of Dr. Bale in 1849 the mill passed into the possession of his 
oldest daughter, who, in i860, sold it to Ralph Ellis, who made additions to 
the buildings and installed a steam engine to furnish power when the water 
in the stream was low. He also fitted up quite a commodious hall in the 
mill warehouse which for several years was occupied by the Good Templars, 
and was used for entertainments of various kinds, being a favorite meeting- 
place, especially for the youngsters of the valley, where was doubtless the 
starting point of many a pioneer romance. 

Later on Captain \\ . Sayward came into possession of the property and 
in 1 87 1 it was bought by W. W. Lyman, its present owner, and was run for 
a number of years by the late Joseph Mecklenberg, who was the last miller. 

Great praise is due to Air. Lyman for his efforts to preserve this almost- 
solitary relic of Napa Valley pioneer days. The old mill is silent now ; its 
wheel is forever still. For a third of a century the wheel has not turned on its 
axis, the men who furnished the grists have nearly all passed over to the 
great beyond, and the old mill-wheel is overgrown with ivy, and crumbling to 
decay, yet it stands a mute but eloquent reminder of a historic by-gone period, 
the like of which the .American continent will never witness again. 



61 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




A SKetcl) of tl)c 43ioiteer of 5tlill ValUy- 
3ol)n O^omas ^ee6 

Outdoor Art C'lulj. 

N 1826 John T. Rccd, the father of pioneers, came across the 
liay of San h'rancisoo in a small sloop and landed on the shores 
of Marin county, then sleeping' peacefully in the arms of 
nature, untouched by the hand of civilization. He applied for 
a grant of the Sausalito Rancho that same year, but was 
refused on the plea that it was held for government uses. 

The following ^■ear he tried to establish himself in Sonoma 
county, in fact, was the first settler there, but the Indians drove 
him out. burning his wheat-fields and implements. 

In 1832 John Reed, who was also the first one to take soundings in the 
bay. established the first ferry, running boats from Sausalito to Yerba Buena, 
now San Francisco, as an accommodation to the few settlers. 

In 1834 he received a grant of the Rancho Corte ^ladera del Presidio, 
which was so-called because he erected a sawmill in the quiet ^•alley at the 
foot of Mt. Tamalpais, where lumber was hewn and sawed for the Presidio. 
He was the first white man to penetrate the beautiful vales and woods of our 
Mill Valley. 

John Reed climbed old Tamalpais before any of his white brethren had 
ever ventured there, and on the highest peak he erected a large wooden cross 
which could be plainly seen from the valley below% and e\en from the Faral- 
lones on very clear days. 

The mill, the ruins of which still stand as one of the landmarks of the 
valley, was the first in the county. 

John T. Reed was born in IJublin in the year 1805 and left Ireland in 
1820. He sailed with his uncle to Mexico and thence to this State, arriving 
here in 1826, his twenty-first year. 

In the old Mission Dolores Church in 1836 he married Senorita Hilarita 
Sanchez, the youngest daughter of Don Jose Sanchez, commander of the 
Presidio at Yerba Buena. 

John Reed was a most energetic man and during his short life accom- 
plished much for his day. He started to raise splendid cattle on his rancho 
and planted several orchards. He had almost completed a large adobe, a two- 
story one, as a residence for his family, when he became sick with a fever 
and, as w'as the custom then, was bled, but to excess, and died at the early 
age of thirty-eight. He was buried in the old Mission Church at San Rafael. 

Besides being a bright and energetic man, he was loved for his kindness 
of heart, and even the Indians learned to look to him for aid. A small part 
of the ruins of the old adobe still stand, not far from Millwood station, fire 
and the elements having destroyed the remainder. Many a gay rodeo was 
celebrated there, when large herds of cattle were branded. They were driven 
from the different ranchos to Reed's, where great festivities and dancing took 
place; barbecues were the orrler of the day and the people were entertained 
according to the great hospitality of \a gcnta del pais. Then each don 
had his cattle driven back to his rancho. These celebrations always lasted a 
week or more. Just about four or five hundred feet from the ruins of the 
adobe are the remains of an Indian mound, the ])lace where I'hief Marin and 

62 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



his tribe lived. This earth-mound is commonly called Rancheria — the old 
Spanish people claim it was formed from shells and mussels and other refuse 
of the Indians, still whole skeletons have been found there of which all but 
the skulls crumble to dust when moved. 

The grant which was given to John Reed by Governor Figulloa and 
comprised one league more or less, extended from what is now Mill Valley 
to Belvedere. A patent of the grant was obtained by the heirs in 1883 ; and 
to this day they retain most of the land in spite of squatters' claims, etc. 
Neither the old adobe of the Reed homestead nor the old mill was ever in the 
possession of the famous robber, Three Fingered Jack, as some recent scribes 
of Alarin county have declared ; it has now passed to his grandchildren by 
direct descent. 




earthquake of 1657 

J. M. Barker of Bakersfield, Relates His Experience. 

Bakersfield Woman's Club. 

N 1857 I was a young man of twenty-five, and for four years had 
lived on a cattle ranch through which Kings River ran. Its source 
was near Tulare Lake. The only settlement between Los An- 
geles and Stockton, at that time, was the hamlet of Visalia ; so 
neighbors were far apart. 

One morning in the month of November, 1857, I started out 
on horseback in company with an old Englishman, my nearest 
neighbor, to search for some horses of ours that had strayed 
away. We shaped our course to skirt the shores of Tulare Lake, between what 
is known as Cross Creek and Kings River. At this time Tulare Lake was a very 
large sheet of water, about one hundred miles in length by thirty miles in width 
at its widest place. For a couple of miles from the shore, the waters in the 
shallows were covered with burnt tules and other refuse matter unfit for use for 
man or beast, until a distance of two miles from the shore was reached. 

We knew that our horses would not drink from the lake, but there were 
sloughs and holes of water in depressions outside of the lake, where the water 
was clear and fit for use. 

To one of these water-holes, which was surrounded by a fringe of tall 
willows, we directed our course in order to look for tracks of our missing stock. 
As several of them were shod, we knew if we found the shod tracks that we 
were on the right trail. 

There was a keen frost, and when we reached the water-hole a thin film 
of ice was seen upon the water. I dismounted and led my horse by the bridle, and 
walked to the edge of the water. Just as I reached it, the ground seemed to be 
violently swayed from east to west. The water splashed up to my knees ; the 
trees whipped about, and limbs fell on and all around me. I was affected by a 
fearful nausea, my horse snorted and in terror struggled violently to get away 
from me, but I hung to him, having as great a fear as he had himself. Of course, 
all this occupied but a few seconds, but it seemed a long time to me. The lake 
commenced to roar like the ocean in a storm, and, staggering and bewildered, I 
vaulted into the saddle and my terrified horse started, as eager as I was to get 
out of the vicinity. I found my friend, who had not dismounted, almost in a 
state of collapse. He eagerly inquired, while our horses were on the run and 

63 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



the lake was roaring- l^eliind us. "What is this?" I rc])He(l. ".\n earth(|uake! I'ut 
the steel to your horse and let us i^et out of this!" and we ran at the top of our 
speed for about five miles. 

We observed several hundred antelopes in a state of the wildest confusion 
and terror. They ran hither and thither, creating a great dust, stumbling and 
falling over each other in mortal fear. It is their habit at this season of the 
year, while rearing their young, to congregate in great numbers for mutual pro- 
tection from coyotes and other vermin ; the males also herding in bands by 
themselves until the new grass starts. 

We returned next day and found that the lake had run u]) on the land for 
about three miles. Fish were stranded in every direction and could have been 
gathered by the wagon-load. The air was alive w ith 1)uzzards and vultures eager 
for the feast, but the earth had acquired its normal condition. 

We can only imagine what the consequences would have been if a great city 
had stood upon the eastern shore of the lake. 




Ol)e (»ol6 S'mb'. !^efore an6 After 

Los Angeles Ehell. 

AR'S tings what I can't "splain, honey — tings what I don' try 
t" "splain, "cause de good Lawd he don't want we-uns t" know — 
else what fo' he put de bail ober de face ob de chile fore he 
open he eyes ? It's de Lawd what gib de clar sight, sure ; 
some what don' beliebe say it be de wuks ob de debbil, but 
de good book say we"s t" know 'em bv da wuks. an' de debbil 
he not go roun" doin" good wuks — not 'cordin t' .^cripter. 

" 'Pears like some fo'ks is chose t' be guided 'f dey takes 
de guidin's, an' yo" "s one ob de chose, honey, sure yo" is! 

"I kin see a streak ob light straight from yo'r heart, an" it go to de wes" 
right frue de mountin' an" "cross de ribbers. an" it light de whole way; an' I sees 
roun' yo' de pertecshun, so no ha"m kin tech yt)'. An" I sees t" de en' ob de light 
a big wahter — bigger dan ol" Alississi])p" ; an" I sees de li"l ribber, an' down un'er 
de wahter I sees de gol" — an' in de rocks I sees de gol" — an" I sees de gol" in yo'r 
ban", an' — I don" see no mo" ; but shore, honey, de good Lawd he mean yo" t' fin' 
de gol', but he don' mean yo" t" tell all de ])o' white trash what he gib yo" fo" yo"r 
own sel'." 

"Or Mammy,"" having delivered her message, hobbled off to her cabin, and 
Elizabeth Jane Wimmer went her way to the settlement, wondering and pondering 
what she had heard, almost convinced against her better judgment, by the earnest- 
ness of the old darkey woman, that it really was given to her to see the things of 
which she spoke. All this came to pass at the Harlan Colony, Missouri, early in 
the year 1846, and was the indirect result of the monition of Horace Greeley, 
"Go West, young man, go West!'" — words that set in motion a force, hitherto 
latent, which has since shaken the continent from center to circumference. 

The boundaries of the "West,"" now the "(ireat West," divided and sub- 
divided, have always been exceedingly indefinite. I'irst New York was "West," 
then Ohio, later Minnesota and Kansas, afterwards the Rockies, until now the 
great Pacific scarce halts the line that with its "Westward ho!" stretches across 

64 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



the country, and whose incessant travel has made needful the threads of silvery 
steel that glitter in the sunlight all the way from ocean to ocean. 

At a time between these extremes, John A. Sutter, a native of the Duchy 
of Baden, left the home of his father in New York for Missouri ; thence he 
journeyed by way of Oregon, Sitka and Hawaii to California, landing on the coast 
of San Francisco Bay in 1839. The Mexican officials bluntly informed him that 
Monterey was the port of entry. Here he met Governor Alvarado. who for per- 
sonal reasons wished him to settle on the Sacramento River. Sutter returned to 
San Francisco to make the necessary preparations, and vainly seeking information 
in regard to the location of the mouth of the river, after eight days' search suc- 
ceeded in finding it himself. Arriving at what seemed to him a desirable point, 
he. with his little company, landed, and immediately set about erecting a building 
which, on account of its form, a hollow square, and mounted pieces of artillery, 
was called Sutter's Fort. These defenses were necessary for protection against 
the hostile Indians and none too friendly Mexicans. 

The soil was fertile, and as soon as the building was completed he began to 
cultivate it, with very satisfactory results. In 1840 quite a number of white men 
joined him, and a year later he was considered, by the ruling powers, of sufficient 
importance to be made a Mexican citizen, and received a grant of eleven scjuare 
leagues of land in the valley, and the place was named New Helvetia. His party 
now increased in numbers rapidly, including both white men and Indians ; many of 
the latter were glad to be employed about the ranch, as they were treated kindly 
and were given what they considered a fair compensation for their labor. 

In appearance he was of sinewy build, though not large of stature, strong in 
character, a manly man ; his picturesque figure and honest bearing were in marked 
contrast to the insignificant, plotting, treacherous governors who disgraced the 
closing years of the Mexican rule. It is not strange that he was a man of note, 
for his title to original and acquired lands was unimpeachable, his great pos- 
sessions secure, his colony prosperous and success assured. 

Meanwhile Peter Wimmer, born of Scotch-Irish parents who, through 
wonderful vicissitudes of Indian capture and release in American warfare 
had journeyed from Cincinnati to Indiana, caught the western fever. Peter 
was not a student, save of nature, and, though small of stature, his outdoor 
life developed in him the perfect health and physical strength that stood him 
in good stead during the privations and hardships of long journeyings 
through the wilderness and subsequent pioneer life. 

When only eighteen he married Polly Harlan, daughter of another 
pioneer. The young couple emigrated to Michigan, then a territory, and 
shortly after to Illinois. Here the Indians, under the leadership of Black 
Hawk, were continually on the warpath ; Peter, however, was not disturbed 
by the "ower true" tales of depredation and massacre, and it was only when 
the tide of progress brought ever-increasing numbers of homeseekers,- that 
the first settlers "moved on," always with fevered faces toward the refreshing 
western breeze. 

Wonderful tales of the genial climate, fertile soil, and good water of 
Missouri, determined Peter to join his father-in-law there ; thus was formed 
the "Harlan settlement," to which flocked enterprising men from all sections 
of the East. Here ]\Irs. Wimmer died of fever, and after a year of mourning 
he married Jennie Cloud Biaz in 1844. Martin Cloud and Obadiah Biaz had 
been interested in Virginia, and later on Georgia gold mines, but there was 
no hint of the precious metal in the glowing descriptions of that land of 
perpetual summer, which were brought by trappers and traders from points 
in and beyond the Rockies. Nevertheless, one Deacon Smith insisted that 

65 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



California was the New World "land of ()])hir." and prophesied that vast 
amounts of ^old and silver would be found in the mountains there, thus, 
unknown to himself, addinj^: his prediction to that of the old ne^s^ro seer. 

Captain Harlan, full of the restlessness that possesses most frontiersmen, 
determined to see for himself that wonderful country if he lived long enough, 
and many were like-minded ; but there were some who believed in "letting 
well enough alone" rather than face the danger and starvation which lay 
in wait in the desert. However, when the Mormons resident there, 
roused by the indignities that culminated in the murder of Joseph Smith 
and others, were successful in reaching Salt Lake. Harlan argued that 
if such ungodly men could make the trip in safety, surely Christians 
had no need to fear. But even this reasoning failed to convince all his 
hearers, and some elected to remain w'here they were ; thus the community 
was divided, and about the first of May, 1846. men. w^omen. and children 
to the number of eighty-four, with one hundred wagons, left Fort Inde- 
pendence for California. At Indian Creek other organized companies joined 
them, and upwards of 500 wagons, painted a bright vermilion, with "Cali- 
fornia" in big letters on the side, and numerous horses and cattle, made a 
striking cavalcade as the long line wound across the plains. The extreme 
age of Deacon Smith was all that prevented him from being one of the 
number. 

Realizing the difficulties to be encountered, they provided themselves 
with a stout windlass to draw the wagons, which were made water-tight, 
across rivers too deep to ford, and up and down mountains too steep for the 
teams to manage, and for this they had plenty of use before they arrived 
at their destination, and even with this precaution one of the wagons and 
oxen were hurled over a precipice on account of the breaking of the rope. 
They reached the foot of the Rocky Mountains July 4, 1846, and there held a 
celebration, naming the place Independence Rock. It is still a favorite land- 
mark. 

Upon leaving this point the band disagreed in regard to the future route, 
part wishing to keep to the old trail, while Harlan thought it best to take the 
new way up the Sweet Water and through Echo Canon. The former division 
encountered terrible perils and suffered great loss, but few of the number 
reaching the land of their desire. Harlan's party made slow progress after 
reaching the caiion, sometimes covering but a mile a day, as they had to 
literally cut their way through forests and blast away immense boulders that 
lay in the road. Their policy had been to keep friendship with the Indians, 
and the "red wagons" were not disturbed while on the w'ay, or while stopping 
for rest and repairs. The company reached Fort Sutter November 15, 1846, 
having lost but two of their number by death. 

Captain Sutter gave them a hearty welcome, as he did all newcomers. 
Not long before this the Mexicans, who until now had held undisturbed 
possession of the country, became fearful of so much immigration, and deter- 
mined to put a stop to it. To this end they declared war, with General 
Andres Pico in command. The Americans, however, felt that it was too 
goodly a land to be relinquished w'ithout a struggle, and Sutter, though at 
this time a Mexican officer, sided with them, and when, in March, 1847, Pico 
surrendered to General Fremont, Sutter was given command of the fort. 
Wimmer, after a short rest, joined the army, but was disabled in a runaway, 
and by the time he had recovered the war was practically over. 

And here another important factor, in the person of James \\ . Marshall, 
entered the arena. He was born in New York May 10, 1812. He, too, took 

66 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



the western fever, which led him first to Indiana to "grow up with the 
country," but he found the "land so famed in story" was still further west, 
and by way of Kansas and Oregon, where he remained but one winter, he 
also drifted to New Helvetia, which he reached in June, 1845. Marshall did 
duty as a soldier, but he paid dearly for his loyalty, for, when he returned to 
his ranch, he found it devastated and his stock gone, no one knew where or 
how. He was forced to seek employment, and, having worked for Sutter 
on his arrival in California, he went to him, and was set to work overseeing 
Indians burning charcoal. The exposure incident to this life, coupled with 
the disappointment over his loss, brought on a serious illness, and he would 
doubtless have paid his debt to nature then and there had he not been found 
by Mrs. VVimmer and taken to their home, where with good food and nursing 
he gradually recovered health and strength. 

Sutter, needing lumber for building and other purposes, conceived the 
idea of building his own mill in a timber country, and offered to furnish the 
money if Marshall would superintend its construction. A contract to this 
effect was drawn by John Bid well (Prohibition candidate for President of 
the United States in 1892). 

Coloma was finally selected for a building site, as the timber was but a 
short distance away, and the lay of the land such that the lumber could be 
taken to the fort in wagons. In August, 1847, the little party, accompanied 
by ten Indians, left for the wilderness ; Mrs. Wimmer was the first white 
woman to enter, and for nine months was the only woman there. 

After a time white men to the number of ten, mostly Mormons, making 
the number of whites "unlucky thirteen," came and were set to work, but 
on account of the dearth of skilled labor, progress was slow, and it was 
December before the dam and headgate were finished. In order to expedite 
matters, the water was turned on at night to wash away the sand and gravel 
which the men had dug up during the day. 

Little attention was paid to the bright specks of metal so often seen ; 
the Indians were used to it, and it held no especial value in their eyes, while 
the others, if they gave it any thought at all, supposed it to be the "fools' 
gold" to which they had been accustomed in the East. 

There was one exception, however, for Mrs. Wimmer had never gotten 
rid of the impression received from Old Mammy back in Missouri, and, 
though she never told any one all that occurred at the time, she did some- 
times mention to her husband the prophecy of old Deacon Smith, and charge 
him to be on the lookout for anything of value. Often when on her occa- 
sional visits to the scene of operations her eyes rested on the glittering bits, 
she said to herself, "Perhaps the vision was true after all; it does look as 
though there might be gold here." She said nothing, but every night when 
the workmen came home stole an inquiring glance at their faces, and listened 
intently to any snatches of conversation that might reach her ears ; but day 
after day passed without change. 

One morning, about a month after the completion of the dam, Marshall, 
surveying the work the water had done for them during the night, discovered 
a good-sized, bear-shaped specimen on a flat rock near the race and picked 
it up as a curiosity. If any suspicion of its value crossed his mind he made 
no sign, and indeed his life had been such that he had long ago ceased to 
expect any good luck for himself. He handed it to his companion, remarking : 
"That's an odd-shaped stone; sort of reminds one of the 'Bear Flag,' hey?" 

Peter, mindful of the charge to be on the lookout, examined it carefully, 
then exclaimed : "Heavens, man ! that's gold !" 

^7 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



"Fools' g'okl, more like; but it fits us all right, for we've been something 
akin to fools since we came west, haven't we? At least, I have." 

"Well." responded W'immer. "fools or no fools. I'd be willing to take 
my pay in that metal all right." as he handed it back. 

"Here. F^ete." said Marshall to the boy standing by. "take this home to 
your mother; tell her to ])ut it into her kettle of soaj) and boil it and see if it 
tarnishes." then, turning to the father, "That'll be a pretty good test and we'll 
see who's right ; 1, for one, would call it mighty good luck if it turned out 
to be copper even." Thus the matter was dismissed, and the regular routine 
of the day went on. 

Mrs. W'immer was not a demonstrative women, but her eyes glistened as 
she took the lump in her hand and noted its weight. Suddenly there came 
to luT mind, "an" I sees de gol' in yo'r ban'." 

"What is it ma?" in(|uired the boy. "Pa said something about its being 
gold, and Mr. Marshall called him a fool. I don't think that was \-erv nice, 
do you? l>ut then he talks queer a good many times, and I'x'e heard him 
lots and lots, when he was all alone, 'talking just as though some one was 
there with him. Say, do you believe like i^a?" 

"I'll tell you in the morning, son," and she (lrop])ed the specimen into 
the boiling soaj), while a faint smile crossed her face as she thought of the 
"witch's cauldron." 

She was, perhaps, a little more anxious than usual for night to bring the 
workmen home, but it was late when they arrived, and some new comjjlica- 
tion at the dam was the stibject of their conversation until bedtime, and not 
even to her husband did she mention the "find." The next morning, seeing 
the kettle still hanging on the improvised crane, Alarshall spoke up: 

"Well, good lady Elizabeth, how did the soap come out? Do you think 
that gold" — with a sly wink at Peter — "will take the ])lace of grease in 
making soap? If it will it'll be a good scheme, for there is plenty of — gold, 
and grease is most mighty scarce." 

W'ithout .waiting to reply Mrs. Wimmer went outside, followed by the 
two men. She ])oured the contents of the kettle into a log trough near by, and 
there in the bottom lay the nugget, bright and j^olished, glittering in the rays of 
the newly risen sun. 

"It is — it is gold!" and no one could deny what was patent to the most 
skeptical. Seeing was believing. This, with other specimens, a few days later, 
was taken to the fort for further and corroborative test, though some other 
errand was made an excuse for the forty-mile trip. 

The interview between the two men, Sutter and ^Marshall, was characteristic. 
Fearful of manifesting the excitement which had increased proportionally as the 
distance from the fort diminished, the latter entered Sutter's private offtce, 
closed and locked the door, whispering in a strained voice, ".Vre we alone? Are 
you sure we are alone?" 

The old commander wondered for a moment if his visitor had taken leave 
of his senses, for his disordered appearance and sly manner indicated that 
something might be wrong. He was not kept long in suspense, for opening his 
pouch Marshall poured its contents into his hand, remarking, "I believe this 
is gold !" 

"It surely looks like it," responded Sutter, "but we will soon see." 

It stood the acjuafortis test, and an old copy of an encyclopedia being 
hunted up, the article on "gold" was carefully studied, and all possible doubts 
swept away. 

"W'e must keep it quiet," asserted Marshall. 

68 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



"We certainly must," assented Sutter. "I'll come over in a day or two; 
it will be supposed here that you need me about the building, and we must find 
some way of hushing up the matter there." 

Marshall returned the next day and handing the nugget to Mrs. Wimmer. 
said. "You were right, Elizabeth, and this is yours ; it will make you a nice ring." 

She kept it, instead, in its original form, and did not part with it until 1877, 
when, being in destitute circumstances, she disposed of it to W. W. Allen, of 
San Francisco. Neither the National nor State government gave them any aid in 
their time of need, save as charity, though the example of Australia in making 
liberal provision for E. H. Hargraves for a similar discovery there, was used 
as an argument. The government made the lame excuse that had not these 
people found the gold, some one else very soon would have done so. All three 
died in extreme poverty and none of the family profited by the find of January 
19, 1848. 

And these were not the only ones who sufifered for what, in the natural 
course of events, should have brought them wealth, as it did the thousands of 
others who followed the trail blazed by their less fortunate predecessors. 

Try as they might, the discovery could not be kept secret, and the attempt 
to do so only augmented the catastrophe which followed. Had Sutter been a 
dififerent kind of a man — had he been a poor man. even, he might have reaped 
some benefit from the discovery, but as it was, it proved disastrous in the 
extreme. 

At that time he had, besides vast herds of stock. 1,000 acres of wheat, brick- 
yards, fruit-fields, tanneries, and also a large and expensive grist mill nearly 
completed. When it became known that there was gold at Coloma, his employees 
immediately deserted him. The grain crop went to ruin, no one being left to 
harvest it. The $25,000 invested in the mill was a total loss, as it could not 
be finished. Large quantities of leather were left in the vats. The rush of 
immigration began, and those who were good citizens at home became lawless 
in this new country; he had no men left to protect his stock, and horses, cattle 
and swine and all were appropriated by the newcomers. 

He and a few others had made a survey a few miles from the fort, and 
started a town, naming it Sutterville. His little village flourished till with the 
flood of people, the rival city of Sacramento started. But here, meager shelter, 
imhealthy crowding of all sorts and conditions of men, and the severe mental 
strain, verging on insanity, induced by the opportunity to get rich suddenly, 
caused a tremendous amount of sickness and death. Medical attendance, nurs- 
ing, and medicines were scarce and high. The winter rains augmented the 
troubles, and men died by hundreds ; coffins were well nigh impossible, and many 
were wrapped in blankets and buried in trenches. And still the immigration 
continued, people flocked in and houses went up as by magic. 

With the settlement of land, squatter troubles commenced. Many located 
on lands given by grant to large title owners, and, thinking them to be rightfully 
theirs, refused to leave. Riots occurred and only ceased after several city officers 
had been killed and the militia sent from San Francisco. 

Yet the securing of legal titles was not without its amusing incidents. 
When a certain attorney was making out land patents for his clients, one woman 
astonished him by asserting that she had had one for twenty-five years. On 
his expressing a doubt, since the thing seemed an utter impossibility, she went 
home and shortly returned with a document duly stamped and sealed, and with 
a confident, "Now, sir, see ! " handed it to the lawyer. Opening it he was sur- 
prised to be confronted by a copy of the first divorce granted in Los Angeles. 
Not being her own it was a mystery how it came into her possession. 

69 



Historic Facts a ?i d Fancies 



The obtainino; of land was secondary, and in many cases auxiliary to the 
securing of gold claims. For a long time there was an unwritten code of law 
which was religiously observed with scarce an exception. Some staked a claim 
and worked it exclusively, while others roamed about digging and picking up 
nuggets of greater or less value. The first large one was found by a soldier in 
Stevenson's regiment while taking a drink from the JMokelumne River. It 
weighed nearly twenty-five pounds and created quite a furore in New York, 
where it was sent, and many came to California hoping that fortune would see fit 
to bestow like favors upon them. The largest mass was dug out of Carson Hill, 
Calaveras county, and weighed 195 pounds. 

Colored men were considered especially lucky in finding gold ; whether it 
was "rabbit's foot luck" or not, is an open question. One of them found a 35- 
pound nugget sticking out of the ground on Table Alount, Tuolumne county. 
Believing it to have rolled down from higher ground, he dug it out, hid it and 
marked the spot, then went in search of its companions. He located a claim and 
worked it for several weeks with fair success. Returning for his first find, he 
was dismayed to see a band of Italians at work there, but luck did not desert him, 
for he found his treasure less than ten feet from where they were digging. 

But good fortune was not for the colored brethren alone. .-\t Remington 
Hill, half a boulder was found, and it was surmised that the other half might 
be somewhere near by. Two years later one of the hired men employed there, 
all of a sudden gave notice that he was going to Nevada City. As he was having 
good work and good wages, one of the owners became suspicious and said to his 
partner : 

"That fellow was in a mighty hurry to get away ; I believe he has found 
the other half of the boulder, and I'm going to follow him." 

"I don't believe any such thing, but if you're fool enough to go, you're 
welcome to all you get out of it." 

He did go, overtook the man, and at the point of a revolver demanded the 
nugget which was really concealed in the man's blankets. 

"The temptation was so great I'll forgive you," he said, "only just keep on 
to Nevada City and never show vour face at mv mine again, as vou value vour 
life." 

On his return with the "other half" he was greeted enthusiastically by all save 
his crestfallen partner. 

"Never mind," said he, when they were alone. "I'll take the odd thousand, 
$20 for my trouble, and $980 for my 'guess,' and we'll divide the $4,000." 

A circumstance showing another characteristic of the mining class, was the 
loan of a 45-povmd nugget found at Sonora to a consumptive that he might 
exhibit it with other curios, and by lecturing from place to place make a living 
for himself. The invalid wrote regularly for some time, but suddenly com- 
munication ceased, and the owner feared his treasure was lost, when one day he 
received word from a New C)rleans bank that it was there subject to his order. 
It yielded a cool $8,000. 

Such discoveries as these, and the no less wonderful "pockets" netting as 
high as $160,000, have given California first place in Ignited States history as 
"The Golden State," with its wonderful "Golden Gate." 

Old Mammy and the Wimmers and their friend Marshall did not profit 
pecuniarily by their discovery, but may we not hope that the good which they 
passed on to others has been passed up to them, and in that other "Golden City" 
they are reaping a glorious harvest? 



70 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO MISSION. 




Historic Facts and Fancies 



016 (Tolusa Oown C:?l)e iDiscoverY of 

6ol6 

Contemporary Club. 

ALIFORNIA the beautiful! Not yet have thy children done thee 
justice or told thy story as it shall be told ! Stronj^ must be the 
pen, radiant the brush, that shall depict thee in thy full glory! 
For this must thy children leave the "shut-in" life, the pent-up 
air of cities, their libraries and books; for this must they seek 
thee, in thy nature-haunts, where thou livest in all thy beauty. 
Close to thy throbbing, warm, brown breast shall they hear thy 
heart-beats and listen to thy voice repeat its story, as it can only 
to those who love thee ! 

There shall be stories of the past, but more wonderful still shall be the stories 
of the future. 

Thou art but in thy maidenhood, O beauteous motherland-to-be, just waking- 
from thy dreams, rousing and rising, stretching eager arms to encircle the glory 
of the destiny in store for thee. Not as the courtezan stretches eager hands to 
grasp and give back naught, but rather as a mother-spirit, taking, that she may 
give. Fortunate are they, O regnant queenly California, who shall be sharers of 
thy bounty ! Full to bursting are thy storehouses with all of richness. The foot 
can press no bit of earth that holds not wealth of thy giving, and from this wealth- 
material must come the only wealth that counts — the gold of character, in thy 
sons and daughters. Nor in material wealth is there aught of evil, nor can 
evil flow from it, save as it touches weakness in human kind. 

As 'twas the Midas-touch that waked thee from thy early dreams, () Cali- 
fornia, tell again the oft-told tale ! 

THE STORY OF THE COLD. 

Deep in the heart of a valley of old El Dorado, there stands a rude cabin. 
Commemorative hands have i)lanted round it vines, which today give its rough, 
decaying timbers a semblance of beauty. Its builder dropped asleep a score of 
years ago, upon yon hilltoi), on whose crest stands a figure, like unto the 
builder's own, l)ut whose enduring bronze shall outlast the clay. It stands in 
sturdy strength in the rough habiliments of the miner, pointing an indicative 
finger down into the valley below — pointing the spot that gave its only title to 
fame to the quiet dust beneath — pointing the s])ot where was first discovered gold 
in California. 

I stand upon the green hillside on a day in June — California June — looking^ 
down upon Colusa town, which was not, when the now deserted cabin was built. 
Vineyards drape the curving hills about, rounding soft outlines against the sky 
of summer blue. The little town which sprang up in response to the needs of 
the gold-seekers has gone to sice]), exhausted with the delirium of her dream of 

Back come the Hocking phantoms of the i)ast ; the vine-clad hills have voices, 
the whispering leaves are tongues. 

Come out of the purple shadow of the hills, ye spirit of the days of gold!' 
Tell us of the lonely builder of the cabin, whose unconscious hand opened the 

72 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



door of California's treasure-house. We know he came here lonely from his far 
eastern New Jersey home. No woman's voice cheered his labors — no woman's 
hand planted the vine which later hands planted. He built the cabin. The lovely 
valley, the softly rolling hills, encompassed him about. The stars kept vigil 
over the quiet nights. He was young, strong with the strength of his thirty-five 
years, skillful with tools and trained to industry. 

What work had Fate set for this man to do? You may call it chance. 
Nay, not so ! Hundreds had passed this way, thousands, counting the red 
brothers. Of all those whose feet had trod the self-same spot, not one whose eye 
had caught the glitter of the gold. 



Some ten years earlier, in 1837, another adventurous spirit, a dashing 
captain of Swiss guards in France during the bloody revolution of 1830, had 
brought his restless feet to pause in California, not far from this same spot. At 
the confluence of the Sacramento and the Plumas Rivers he secured two grants 
of land from Mexico, to which country California then belonged. These grants 
comprised eleven leagues along the one, three leagues along the other river, 
thirty-three miles in length, three miles in width. Upon this fair domain this 
one-time "man of war" settled, to devote his energies to things to peace. With 
soldier instinct and in a country filled with red men he built, with the plastic 
soil of the country, a rude stockade. As a place of defense and protection against 
the Indians, however, it was never needed. The kindly heart and sense of justice 
that dwelt in the breast of John Augustus Sutter was his all-sufficient protection. 
He made himself the friend of the Indians and employed them in large numbers. 
on his estate. The fort was his home and became a rendezvous for all kindred 
adventurous spirits — mountaineers, frontiersmen, men of science. John C. 
Fremont, "the Pathfinder" ; Kit Carson, guide and scout, and a host whose names 
are of record in California history, found "welcome and good cheer within 
those old adobe walls." The wayfarer and stranger, too, found rest and refresh- 
ment if night overtook them along the reedy margin of the Sacramento, at old 
Fort Sutter. 

To its owner's generous nature was allied also the accinnulative faculty, and 
the years saw his flocks and herds increase, his land grow fruitful and productive, 
year by year. Twenty-five thousand dollars of his capital was invested in his 
flour-mill. Then a sawmill was needed. And now the hand of Fate drew near — 
the hour and the man. James Marshall, with skill at building, the building of 
houses, grist-mills, and sawmills, you are needed, the hour is big with portent ; 
for better or worse, for you, the future still holds her secret. 

The site was selected upon the south fork of the American River, where 
, old Colusa town now nestles among her sheltering, bordering hills. To Marshall 
was given the selection of the site, to his skill was intrusted the building of the 
mill. Sutter furnished the necessary capital. The mill was finished January 10, 
1848. The builder looked upon his work and found it good. But one defect 
appeared to mar its perfect working. The channel of the millrace was too narrow 
to admit sufficient water to permit the free working of the wheel. To widen 
and deepen the water course, the builder raised, at night, the flood-gates, uncon- 
scious that his hand was opening also the flood-gates of fortune. The rushing 
waters did their work, and in the morning the gates were lowered and the 
man of Fate went forth alone, to note if now his wheel could run in freedom. 

Great masses of sand and gravel had been dislodged and carried down, 
spreading out in the widened channel. Upon this rocky bed, answering back 
the flash of the morning sunlight, there glittered strange yellow pebbles, or so» 

71 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



they appeared to the man walking- on the bank of the stream. Thinking them 
a species of opal, common in that locahty and hardly worth the trouble of ex- 
amination, he passed them by. A little further on the yellow stones flashed 
again their fateful challenge, and this time, in idle curiosity, he stooped and 
picked one up to see what manner of stone it might be. Gold ! No, of course 
not, along this course where so oft his feet had trodden before. With quicken- 
ing pulse-beat, he gathered a number of the shining fragments, and trying, found 
them easily malleable. No longer was there room for doubt. Gold ! Gold ! Gold ! 
sang in his eager brain. Gold ! Gold ! Gold ! throbbed the blood in his veins. 
Gold all about, yet, perhaps, not too much ; so no word to any of the workmen 
about the mill. But the owner of the mill must be told. So for his horse to 
carry him quickly to the fort, the precious evidence tied in a bit of rag. Hard 
he rode through the morning hours, covering the distance by late afternoon. 

* * * :|; :i: ;|: :|; :|: 

Just from his siesta and sitting down to pen a letter to a friend in far 
Switzerland, was mine host of the fort. To him, sitting with quiet thoughts 
upon his distant home, burst in the eager bearer of the tidings of the gold, his 
pent-up thoughts of the past few hours breaking forth in speech, but with such 
excitement of word and manner that his listener was fain to think the brain of the 
other had suddenly gone wrong. But proof of the wondrous story was poured 
upon the table — a shining, silent witness of the truth. 

Then did the fear seize upon the other also. Together their ])lans were 
laid and the next sunrise saw their start to the mill. The rain was falling, but 
they felt it not ; it was raining gold to them. They would tell no one. The 
secret should be theirs so long as possible. So does the gold virus change 
generous impvdses to selfishness in the hearts of men. That night was passed 
in Marshall's cabin, and the following morning the two men were out early 
and followed the river course, up stream, to verify the extent of their treasure. 
A millionfold greater was it than their dreams. Even in the dry beds of the 
little creeks and in the ravines they loosened the virgin gold in fragments with a 
pocket-knife. But gold like murder will out, and in spite of their precautions 
there were men among the workmen at the mill who became curious as to their 
movements and, following, discovered also the glittering lure. So from lip to lip 
ran the news, and as fast as men could get there from scattered camps the 
influx began. 

Marshall attempted, after Ca])tain Sutter had sold his claims, to hold the 
mill site against the newcomers. This he could not do. To the elemental man 
in the virgin country, "The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof," and 
"the Lord helps those who help themselves," is their rude creed. So to the 
pretensions of the man who had chanced to make the discovery they turned a 
deaf ear. To him, this brought bitterness of soul and much rancor. What 
he might have had was lost sight of, in fighting for what he thought he ought 
to have; and from him was taken even that which he had. (ione were the 
dreams of happiness which fired his heart at the finding of the golden treasure. 
He had been tried by the test of gold — the hardest test to which human nature 
can be put — and was found wanting. Continual quarrels with those who came 
into the region earned for him the dislike and enmity of his neighbors. His 
property was destroyed ; he lost his interest in the mill, which should have been 
a .steady source of income. He grew to linger long and often over the cup that 
inebriates, until finally naught remained to him but his cabin and a little 
patch of ground. For something like twenty-eight years he lived in poverty, 
eking out a bare existence by his labor. For a few years State aid was given 

74 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



him, but ten years before the end this was withdrawn, and he continued to exist, 
a moody, misanthropic old man, poor in purse, but poorer with the only real 
poverty — poverty of spirit — shunning his fellows and shunned by them. On a 
day in August, 1885, he looked his last upon the purple-shadowed hills, and in 
the lonely cabin, as he had lived, he died — alone. 

To Captain Sutter, also, the discovery of gold brought not wealth but 
ruin. His property he could not hold against land thieves and squatters, and 
what he retained was spent in fruitless litigation. He returned to the East with- 
out means, and in his last years was dependent upon friends and a pension 
granted him by the California Legislature. He died in Washington, D. C, 
in 1880. 

So it was with the majority of those who sought the shrine of the fickle 
goddess. She lured them on with shining promises, but not that they themselves 
might profit; yet required of them their toil, their sacrifices, their lives, that to 
the new star, so soon to be added to the cluster of States, might be given its 
glorious heritage and baptism as the Golden State. 



The sun drops to the horizon, below the hills lies old Colusa town, the purple 
shadows deepen as we travel down the mountain road, over whose weary way 
the toiling hosts of early days entered the land of promise. The June day 
breathes to its close — the vine-clad hills have voices, the whispering leaves are 
tongue-s ! 







v;:-'^--"-";^ 









VERNAL FALLS, YOSEMITK. 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




Stanfor6 X^lniversltY 

Palo Alto Woman's Club. 

TIE fact that Lcland Stanford Junior University was founded 
and richly endowed by Senator and Mrs. Stanford in memory 
of their son who died before attaining manhood, is generally 
known. The following- interesting little story published in an 
early number of Sequoia, the literary magazine of the uni- 
versity, is less familiar : 

One day when Mrs. Stan lord was in con\'ersation with 
Dr. Jordan she s])()ke sul)stantially as follows: " r>y the way. 
Doctor, would you like to know how our thoughts were, in the very begin- 
ning turned toward our educational scheme? It was all because of a little 
story. Our son, as a child, was not fond of school. We sent him to one 
place after another, but he did not study. Nothing gained his attention or 
secured his interest until one day he was sent to a lady lixing in San Fran- 
cisco, who was very fond of children and wh(T was said to have a real genius 
for teaching and developing their minds. That day he came home perfectly 
radiant, saying his teacher had been telling him 'such a lovely story, mama, 
all about a little stone." And then, unable to be repressed, he told and told 
again the wonderful story that had made such an impression on his mind, 
h'rom that time he thirsted for more and greater knowledge. No longer was 
persuasion of any kind needed as an incentive to studious work. From that 
single beginning grew his great desire to give to others opportunities for 
education, the value of which he had learned to appreciate. 

"And now," continued Mrs. Stanford, "we are only carrying out his 
wishes to the best of our ability." 

Dr. Jordan listened cptietly to this recital, but a close obserxer might 
have noticed a very queer and peculiar expression on his face, inexplicable, 
indeed, for the time. With characteristic modesty Dr. Jordan made no com- 
ment, and it was not until several days later that the true inwardness of that 
queer smile was explained by one who heard the conversation and knew 
this simple fact, that Dr. Jordan himself had been the author of that same 
story. 

Shall we call this mere coincidence? Think of that story written years 
ago, which was to result in being such an influence in bringing this institution 
into existence ! And think of what is still more strange, that it was jx-nned by 
him who was destined to be its future president ! 




STANFORD UNIVERSITY, 



Historic Facts and Fancies 





1 





^ 3fappY Valley Stor^p 

San Jose Woman's Clnb. 

X telling" this little tale of a "hero inisung," perhaps I am trans- 
gressing the laws of friendly courtesy, as I have now no oppor- 
tunity to look up the subjects of this little sketch, and so can not 
secure their permission to publish it ; but as I have only good to 
tell of them and only the kindliest intentions in the telling thereof, 
I must claim a writer's license to give to others what seemeth 
good to him. 

Some years ago I had the good fortune to live in a quiet little 
valley tucked away among the foothills not far from our sun-kissed bay and 
within a short journey of our great metropolis — the sleepiest little vallev that 
ever existed with the name of Happy Valley. The inhabitants had serenely passed 
their lives here since the days of '49, with very few changes of any kind. 

One of the most interesting characters, of whom I never tired, was a stalwart 
old man who must have been a picture of manly beauty in his youth as he was 
still wonderfully picturesque in his late years — tall, well-built, and with but little 
of the stoop of age, with clear, friendly blue eyes and a picturesque mane of long 
and luxuriant iron-gray hair, which was fast becoming white, and a short beard 
of the same color around the lower part of the face — his was a personality to 
look at twice, even though he was usually dressed in the plainest working 
clothes. And what a rich, hearty, pleasant voice went with the rest of this very 
manly and courteous gentleman of the old school, who, with his genial courtesy 
and whole-souled generosity and hospitality, seemed to belong to the old South. 
The wife of this big-hearted man was just what you would expect — a tiny 
wisp of a woman, about as big as a minute, with quiet, kindly ways and a wealth 
of affection always showing in her eyes for "Father," and her boys, and the one 
daughter, all of whom she petted and spoiled and waited upon. 

Such were Wesley Bradley and his wife, and one never tired of hearing of 
the romance of their youth. Wesley had not much of a history, according to 
his modest belief. In 1843 ^^^ ^^ft a village in Missouri and journeyed over 
the Rockies ; he had explored and starved his way over the plains and across the 
Sierras with no less a leader than General Fremont and the famous guide. Kit 
Carson. That was not such a wonderful experience if all had gone well, but 
Kit Carson was not the most thorough sort of a guide in a journey of over 
fifteen hundred miles through an unexplored wilderness. 

Mr. Bradley often showed us a thin little case-knife which had been the coiu- 
panion of all his travels, and he said no amount of gold could buy that knife. 
His first Christmas dinner in California was the finest he ever tasted. It was 
down on Tulare Lake, and their party had been living on salt meat which had to 
have the maggots scraped off it ; they had not seen bread for so long they had 
forgotten what it looked like, and they would almost have made soup of their 
boots, but unhappily they were barefooted ; so Christmas came and they had not 
yet seen any white people to learn whether they were really in California or not. 
Suddenly along came some of the gentle California Indians, and they pitied the 
white brothers who had no food and brought them a supply of bread made by 
their women from acorns gathered in the forest ; also some beans or frijolcs from 
the rancherias not so far away. That was a meal fit for a king. 

After a while Fremont decided to go up north into the Oregon country and 

77 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



"look around a bit," but A\'cslcv liradley concluded that California was good 
enough for him, so he tarried at Sutter's Fort, where he entered into all the 
curious pioneer experiences which were happening there. He was one of those 
rash young fellows who first made and then sent aloft that little red Bear Flag 
of which the young Californians read today in history ; and then after that he 
"met his fate in that same grand old Sutter's Fort," and Mother blushes and 
looks a little uncertain. 

The way of it was this, he will tell you : "There was a party of immigrants 
from Missouri who took up the Emigrant Trail in the spring of 1846. It wasn't 
very much of a trail then and the most they had to go by was a miserable little 
map, which was all wTong, and a few letters from a friend in California, which 
were all right, because they said 'Hurry all you possibly can across the plains and 
get over the Sierras before the last of October, for fear of early snowstorms, 
which will block the way' — and hurry they did, in spite of the fever and of 
deaths and oxen being exhausted and all ; and so they got to the eastern foot of 
the Sierras in October and thought the skies looked threatening. 

Then how they w^orked ! 

One wagon at a time was hauled up the steep grade with all the oxen 
yoked in front and a big forked stick fastened behind to act as a brake when 
they winded the oxen. Not a man, woman or child who could go on all fours 
was allowed to ride, and so they got one wagon after the other up the steep sides 
of the mountain and through Emigrant Gap, where there was a mighty poor 
excuse of a trail to follow. 

And the women and children ? 

Well, they got up several ways. 

The future Mrs. Bradley was not even as large as she is now. because she 
had nursed and cooked for the whole camp when they were all sick with the fever 
except herself and a teamster, and then she also had to help him yoke up the 
oxen and break camp of mornings, and drive a yoke on the march some of the 
time, and she was only eighteen, you know ! 

But by the time the mountains were in sight the others had got around ; she 
had had the fever and was almost able to walk again, so she took care of the 
smallest baby in the crowd, whose mother had just died of the fever, tied it on 
her back, and literally crazvled on her hands and knees up the steep places, but 
they beat the snow and arrived safely in Sutter's F"ort, while a party — the fated 
Donner party — just a day's march behind them, got caught in the storm which 
came so soon, and their sufferings have passed into history. 

Despite all the many hardships of the journey, the girl was so sweet and 
pretty when she arrived at Sutter's Fort that big, handsome young Wesley just 
fell in love with her right away, and never got out again — so they just got 
married and lived happy ever afterwards in Happy Valley, California. 



78 




Historic Facts and Fancies 



A 5l)ort Kflsbr^ of Soxi iDiego 

Mothers' Club of San Dieg'o. 

HE discovery of the present location of San Diego was first 
made by a padre, Father Marcos, journeying- from Mexico in 
search of gold, in the year 1539. The first ships to enter the 
harbor were two of Alvarado's fleet, sent out for Mexican 
conquest and commanded by Cabrillo ; he remained in the 
harbor six days and named it San Miguel, which name was 
later changed to San Diego by Sebastian Vizcaino, who had 
been sent by the Spanish viceroy in the year 1596 to re-explore 
the California coast. Vizcaino entered the port on November loth and re- 
mained until the 20th. He was delighted with the mildness of the climate, 
the excellence of the soil, the lay of the land, and the docility of the Indians. 
It was near the close of the seventeenth century that the mission labor 
in San Diego began. On July i, 1769, Junipero Serra came to San Diego to 
begin the noble work of converting the Indians. He selected a location near 
the bay and river for the site of a permanent town ; it was called Cosoy by 
the Indians, but is now known as Old Town, and was an ideal point for 
defense, shelter, fresh water, embarkation, and farming. Here were built a 
few huts, a corral, and an entrenched camp. On the first Sunday of July 
Father Serra and his assistants held a thanksgiving mass and on Sunday, 
July i6th, the padre dedicated the first of the California missions, blessing 
its cross, and conferring upon it the name of San Diego. 

The first six months were discouraging to the priests and their com- 
panions ; sickness prevailed and the Indians became troublesome. Conver- 
sions were slow and one year elapsed before the first one took place. Governor 
Portola, who had journeyed north to inspect the country, returned dis- 
appointed and counseled retreat. It was then that Junipero Serra showed 
his heroic purpose — he would not abandon the work. In the yeari774 a church 
and several buildings were erected six miles up the river and a level piece of 
land lying at the foot of the hill was prepared and planted to a grove of olives, 
the first one of the kind in , North America. Once in the new mission the 
golden days of the priesthood began. Life in San Diego then was a thing of 
quiet progress in both good works and worldly gain for the padres. 

On March 18, 1850, the city of San Diego was founded by William Heath 
Davis. The first building put up in this new San Diego was a residence by 
Mr. Davis. Other houses soon followed, and a wharf was built costing 
$60,000. The first American social gathering held in San Diego occurred in 
1851, soon after the first American barracks were completed. General Lyon, 
then quartermaster of the port, gave a grand ball to which everybody was 
invited. In the same year, May 29th, the first newspaper in Southern Cali- 
fornia, the San Diego Herald, was printed and edited at Old Town by J. Judson 
Ames. The Herald lived but a few years, suspending in 1858. 

Up to the year 1868 San Diego was a typical Spanish town, but in 1867 
a brisk, enterprising stranger from San Francisco arrived. This newcomer 
was Alonzo E. Horton, who soon saw that with such a harbor San Diego 
would eventually be a great city. He therefore bought the few acres of land 
and houses that Mr. Davis owned and converted one of these houses, the 
largest and oldest, into a hotel, the first hotel in San Diego. For several 

79 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



years Mr. Ilorton traveled l:)ack and forth on the l)oats plying- between San 
Diego and San Francisco, telling about his wonderful city, until finally people 
awoke to the advantages and flocked to San Diego. \\Mth the only sheltered 
harbor south of San Francisco. 400 miles north, with a climate unrivalled, and 
exquisite scenery, the city is destined to be the largest and most beautiful 
in the southwestern part of the United States. 




^ Stor^ of Oom !^ell 

The joacjuin Murietta of the Xorth 

CA]\1F to California, a little child, in the year 1856. My fatlicr. 
J. F. Stex'ens. had bought for our family home, a large ranch 
just south of Yuba City (the property was afterward i)ur- 
chased by George l>riggs. the noted orchardist). But my 
father's chief occupation was cattle-dealing. He had exten- 
sive ranges in Sutter's Buttes and on the Sacramento River. 
He was interested in many markets and butcher-shops 
throughout tlie northern counties, and his vacpieros were 
almost constantly on the road to supply these shops. 

Aly father himself attended chiefly to the financial ])art of the business, 
and w^ent. regularly, on collecting tours through the wild and romantic regions 
in Sierra, ^'uba, Butte, Nevada, and Plumas counties. 

During the later fifties — that is, from 1855 to about t86o — these sections 
had been infested by a bold highwayman and his gang. The leader was 
known as "Tom PJell," an American, but his band included a mixture of 
nationalities. It was a common occurrence for the express-boxes to be taken 
from the various stages that ran from Downieville, Grass Valley, and other 
w-ell-known points, to Alarysville, the common trade-center of Northern Cali- 
fornia at that time (Sacramento City draining a region farther southward). 
Travelers were held up and divested of their "dust" and other valuables, 
and it really became dangerous to travel with gold in any part of the infested 
district. Tom Bell was a lithe, active fellow, who seldom appeared twice in 
the same disguise. He rode good horses, was keen, shrewd, and quick as 
chain-lightning, therefore his ca])ture seemed a very remote possibility. 

My father frequently left his ]iarticular collecting grounds with a large 
amount of gold in coin or "dust." This he carried in a pair of saddle-bags 
hung over the horn of his Mexican saddle, for everybody rode the ^Mexican 
saddle in those days. He had been frequently cautioned about carrying gold 
in this way and warned of Tom Bell. But he was a man utterly without 
fear, alwavs rode w-ell-armed, and trusted to his good luck in evading "Tom 
Bell." 

I was the proud owner of a little Indian pony, captured b}- my father 
from the Indians in crossing the plains, and I was a fearless rider, even in 
childhood. I was that fortunate girl — my father's comrade and chum. I liked 
to go with him on his trips and he liked my company. The result was that 
I was his frequent companion on the wild, rough rides that lefl from Marysville 
to Downieville, Eureka North, Pjrandy City, Grass Valley, Rough-and-Ready, 
Foster's Bar, and other places of that section. With my little jwny's nose 
pressing close to the tail of my father's sure-footed mule, we threaded the 
narrow trail thai led from the summit of the mountain to the bed of the 



80 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



Yuba, four miles down, and then four miles up to the opposite bank, and on 
to Brandy City, or along some other equally dizzy and really perilous way, 
"doing" our fifty miles or more a day. 

One pleasant evening, we were wending our way along the Slate Range 
mountains, making what haste we could to reach the Slate Range House be- 
fore dark. We had come out upon a comparatively flat piece of ground, when, 
glancing across a small ravine, or dip in the road, we saw two Mexicans 
galloping toward us. I noticed father put his hand hastily on his 
hc^lster, but that was all the indication he gave of any suspicion of the men. 
They had evidently seen us about the time we discovered them, and their 
behavior suddenly became most peculiar. They seemed, by their actions, to 
be very drunk, reeling and lurching in their saddles until both fell ofif their 
horses, their position being such that we should have to pass directly between 
them. One seemed dead-drunk lying by his horse, his face turned toward the 
road. The other was leaning heavily on his horse, apparently but just able 
to stand. Rut father noticed a significant motion of his right shoulder, just 
visible over his horse's back, as if he were getting a pistol ready for use. 

We had spoken not a word, for father was a man of few words, but I 
confess, the cold shivers ran down my spine, and I would have given the 
entire contents of father's saddle-bags to have been at the Slate Range House 
(only three miles away) that minute. 

Father gave no sign whatever of suspicion or fear, but jogged along on 
his mule, with me in his wake, quite serene. The men, undoubtedly, thought 
us easy victims, as they waited for us to pass into the ravine and up between 
them. We were within a few hundred yards of them when the road abruptly 
descended into the ravine, where, for some moments, we should be quite out 
of their sight in a thick clump of trees. Father passed down into this ravine, 
making not the slightest motion to arouse their suspicion. I was close at his 
heels — my heart in my mouth. The instant we were out of sight he turned, 
silently and swiftly, and whispering "Hold on, Carrie," in a tone of decision, 
struck my pony with his quirt, at the same time sticking his spurs into his 
mule, and both animals plunged down the ravine along a blind and narrow 
trail that he knew of. The ground was thickly covered with leaves, and we 
had some moments' start before our Mexicans discovered that we had given 
them the slip. 

They then sprang on their horses, with no signs of drunkenness, and gave 
chase. But our animals were sure-footed and swift and we kept well ahead. 
It was a wild ride to me. particularly, when a bullet or two whizzed past our 
heads. Father's pistol was in his hand, and turning as we ran, he gave the 
leader the contents of one barrel. This checked his career, but we did not 
know just what the bullet did to him. We were getting too near the hotel, 
by this time, for their safety, so they beat a retreat. Aside from a bullet 
which, through father's boot-top, grazed his leg, we received no injury. 

Some months after this Tom Bell was captured. Unfortunately, I do not 
remember the circumstances of his capture. His trial took place in Marysville 
and my father was one of the jurymen. During the trial a trunkful of the 
highwayman's various disguises was opened in the court-room and he was 
requested to put them on. He put on a Mexican disguise that father instantly 
recognized as that of the leader of our foiled robbers. Father asked the 
prisoner if he remembered the attempt to waylay us. He frankly acknowl- 
edged tliat he did, and described his surprise at our escape. He said that 
he had been "laying" for father for some months, and had been told by a spy 
when he left Eureka North with his saddle-bags full of gold upon the occasion 
described. 

8i 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



I am not certain about the fate of this famous "Terror of the Northern 
Mines." He was condemned, of course, but whether to State's prison or 
death, I do not remember. Probably the former, as I do not remember any 
murders committed in his famous career. _Carr\c Stevens Walicr 




^ Con6on ^ri6e in (Talifornia 

Los Angeles Ebell. 

HE experience of a bride in California may not be uninteresting 
to some of a later date, nor to expectant ones. This one was a 
native of "Merrie Old England." The young man with whom 
she had promised to share the joys and sorrows of this life, 
having heard flattering reports of the gold discovery in 
(."alifornia, wished to try his fortune and secure a share. With 
the enthusiasm and courage of youth, he crossed the ocean 
under difficulties little realized by the traveler of today ; thus 
the long, hard journey to the mines was begun. 

After a few years of the vicissitudes of life in this State at that time, he 
was in a position financially to return to his native land and claim the loving 
heart that had been his inspiration in the years of toil and hardship while 
separated. They left Liverpool January 20, 1855. Their honeymoon began 
on the steamer "Arctic." Although in the company of a devoted and loving 
husband, the silent tears would How and continued to do so at times until 
the long journey to the mining region was completed. The trip from San 
Francisco was a long, hard ride of days, which can now be taken in hours on 
the railroad. 

The approach to a i)ublic shanty, where a change of horses and a meal 
of coarse food could be obtained for one dollar each, was a welcome change 
to the wear}' travelers. 

The bride noticed that her husband had added to their luggage before 
leaving San Francisco, sundry packages, boxes, etc. She asked no question, 
but later learned their contents without asking. 

Their destination was Columbia, Tuolumne county, where there were sev- 
eral hundred men and a few women. The population soon increased to 
thousands. The one small public house, Broadway Hotel, was to be their 
home for the present. They were given a warm welcome, their arrival having 
been anticipated, and after a hurried introduction by her husband they retired 
to their room, she being quite exhausted from the sea voyage and ride over 
the rough country, after leaving her home of comfort in the city of London. 
About midnight they were awakened by the most hideous racket that ever 
fell on mortal ears. It seemed as though heaven and earth had combined to 
raise a din. The result was that they arose and dressed themselves in their 
best to appear before a large company, before it would cease. She then 
learned what a charivari was, and never will forget ; also that the extra 
packages contained things provided by the bridegroom for such occasions. 

Life in a mining camp has its bright side as well as its tragic. In this 
one a large tent had been erected where public gatherings, dances, and enter- 
tainments were held. Many of the men in those places had come from the 
larger cities and towns of our own and foreign countries, and were well 

82 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



educated and possessed a variety of talent that did much to relieve the tension 
as well as add to the pleasure of their companions. 

Money was spent lavishly and often some noted actors and musicians 
were heard in the larger mining centers, when for miles around those from 
smaller places would flock in, especially on Sunday. One young lady who 
industriously practiced "Wait for the Wagon" was the famous Lotta Crab- 
tree. Then a large delegation would appear from camps with original names 
such as Shirt Tail Gulch, Jackass Hill, Dutch Flat, and the like. Angel's 
Camp has a legend concerning its name, it being the first place to which a 
miner's wife came. Her husband was offered a good round sum for the 
privilege of kissing her, which he declined. So the miners claimed the lesser 
privilege of naming the camp in her honor "Angel's Camp." 

The second year this London bride was in the State, Jenny Lind was one 
of the attractions. It was a great event and she never sang to a more appre- 
ciative audience. As the hour approached for the concert, a man appeared 
in front of the tent ringing an enormous dinner-bell, and calling out, "Front 
seats reserved and all dusted for the ladies !" The said seats were planks 
firmly fastened to blocks of the right height, and were without backs or foot- 
rest. The stage was of rude construction, but large and strong. The young 
mother attended the concert, as was the custom, taking her six-weeks'-old 
baby. The little one was placed on a bench in an anteroom to sleep, the 
mother leaving the concert occasionally to look after it. At one of these times 
she found a rough-looking man in red flannel shirt, slouch hat, top boots, such 
as miners wore, sitting beside the cooing babe. He asked as a favor that he 
might take it in his arms and remain there during the concert, as it would 
be a greater pleasure than listening to the voice of the sweet singer, since it 
reminded him of a home in New York where he had little ones of his own. 
In September, 1856, Julia Dean Hayne visited there. Should the name of the 
young babe attending his first concert be given here, it would be recognized 
as that of a prominent citizen of San Francisco. 

The bride of long ago has many times crossed the ocean to her London 
home under more favorable circumstances, and accompanied by children who- 
call her "blessed," but is always ready to return with them to their native 
State — lovely California. 




Historic Facts and F 



a n c 1 e s 




Till-: WllITK LADV OF LA ]()|,I..\. 



H 



i s t r i c Facts and Fancies 




Obe >^\)\\^ Ca6^ of Xa ITolla 

San Dieg"o Club. 

HE faithful little luotor puffs impatiently, and throbs in labored 
breathings preparatory to carrying its burden of expectant 
humanity on one of its tri-daily trips from San Diego to the 
famous seaside resort, La Jolla. There are picnic parties out 
from the city for a day on the beach. There are tourists from 
beyond the Rockies, and from the Old W'orld. Some of these 
are of such decided indi^■iduality that they present unmis- 
takable characteristics of state and nationality. The intel- 
lectual Bostonian, severely precise in every detail of dress and speech, 
perceptibly shocked at the western idioms, southern vernacularisms, 
and wanton disregard of correct English that pulsate the air on all sides 
of her; the two ruddy Englishmen lounging in indolent comfort appar- 
ently unconscious of the fact that a delicate woman, with the fatal 
hectic flush on her cheeks, is standing in the aisle near them. ha\-ing failed 
to secure a seat in the crowded coach ; the family from Michigan, noisy boys 
and laughing girls, enjoying their outing with rollicking" spontaneity ; the 
woman from Colorado, dominative and self-assertive, the majesty of whose 
presence submerges and overwhelmes the timid hoosier schoolma'am wdio 
has offered the royal lady a seat beside her ; the sweet-faced mother and 
elderly gentleman from "the blue grass country" ; the loud-voiced Texan ; 
the eastern capitalist ; the Kansas farmer ; the languid-eyed Mexican ; the 
tawny Scotchman. It is, indeed, a miscellaneous company representing many 
of the states, and all conditions of life. It is, in fact, California in miniature, 
for California is peopled, not only with the overflow of the states, but with 
that of the whole world. The quick-witted, progressive Yankee is a product 
of mixed races, and the conditions from which he sprang are toda}' preparing 
a special American people in this far west land. 

The coaches are soon filled with happy humanity, the mingling of whose 
voices makes joyous undulations of sound that warm the heart of the passer 
and call a smile to his lips. At the last moment it is found that an extra 
coach is needed, and the important little motor with a perfunctory puff or two, 
pulls itself together with sudden determination and sets about supplying the 
deficiency. Presently every one, including the little woman with the hectic 
cheeks, is comfortably seated, and the motor pulls its burden of enthusiastic 
humanity out of the station, while the sightseers prepare to discharge the 
duty for which they have traveled thousands of miles. 

To the west lie the placid waters of the San Diego bay. Uncle Sam's 
southmost harbor on the western coast. Its azure surface is dotted with 
yachts, immense vessels of commerce, a warship in the distance, and is 
fringed, at its nearer edge, with rowboats. Beyond this blue expanse lies 
white-walled Coronado, like a glimpse of the celestial city in the soft-toned 
haze. The rugged sides of Point Loma show darkly against the deeps of the 
southern sky, as he bends his massive arm to protect the peaceful harbor in 
its graceful curve, with Roseville and La Playa clinging to his base like bar- 
nacles on the hull of a ship. 

Three miles along the shores of the bay and original San Diego is reached. 
A few cruml)ling adol)e walls where homes once stood, a few time-stained 

85 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



and weatlier-beatcn wooden l)uilding^s erected in the days of the Mission 
Fathers (the timbers of one of these having been bronght around Cape Horn 
in that early day before the advent of sawmill or planing-mill*), a neglected 
plaza, a general api)earance of indolent Mexican life, a page torn out of the 
past, rich with historical reminiscences, and this is old San Diego as it now 
appears. 

Among other interesting features of this relic of by-gone days, apprt)- 
priately called Old Town, is the house where Ramona. the heroine of Helen 
Hunt Jackson's California romance, was married to her Indian lover. An 
opportunity is given the tourist to visit the place and assist Father Time in 
his destruction of the ancient ruins by chipping ofif pieces of the walls as 
souvenirs with which the appreciative visitor returns to his car, and the 
faithful little motor continues its journey northward, over the San Diego river, 
bottom up during the summer and autumn months, but right side up again 
as soon as the winter rains have thoroughly soaked the ground. Sometimes it 
is a roaring torrent; oftener a gentle stream, and always for a part of the 
year, a dry river-bed. 

At this point a glimjise may be obtained of the ancient palms, protected 
from vandal hands by a high picket fence. Your attention is drawn to these 
palms and the information is vouchsafed that the trees were planted by the 
Mission Fathers one hundred and twenty-five years ago. A sour-visaged 
individual, with malicious intent, adds the information that in all probability 
they are of the feminine gender, because they have added nothing to their 
age since '87. 

Beyond the river and to the eastward lie the rolling mesas, velvety green, 
or sun-brown according to the season, and snuggled against them is Morena, 
a dot of a town avalanched upon the map amid boom convulsions, and resting 
just where the tidal wave left it. One of nature's beauty spots is Morena, 
and it is small wonder that pulses beat high with premature hopes of its 
greatness — hopes which are, however, only in abeyance, for some day soon 
beautiful homes and tropical gardens will arise above this burial place of 
great expectations. 

To the westward lies 
P"air Mission bay, 
Now blue, now gray, 
Now flushed by sunset's afterglow. 

Pale rose hues take the tint of fawn, 

At dawn of dusk and dusk of dawn. 
God's placid mirror, Heaven-crowned, 
Framed in the brown hills circling 'round. 

Mission bay, in its present state, is too shallow for commerce, but the 
rowboats and sailboats that flit across its surface, or drift idl}^ with its tide ; 
the song and laughter that mingle with the sound of dipping oars, proclaim 
its mission of pleasure. 

Pacific Beach, still farther on is an ideal settlement of lemon orchards 
and beautiful homes. Here enterprise and culture join hands for the material 
and social welfare of its inhabitants. It is a well known fact that no place on 
the coast is so favorable for the student of conchology, and that its ocean 
beach is rich in rare deposits of algae. Eve never contemplated a more beau- 
tiful picture than that which repays a drive, or a climb to the heights north- 
ward of the long sweep of southern exposure that dips with a gentle declivity 
to the bay. To the imaginative there is something awe-inspiring in the view. 

* Recently removed. 

86 



Historic Facts and Fancies 

Forty, fifty, sixty miles the eye travels with the rapidity of thought, drinking 
in the marvelous beauty of sun-brown mesas, city, towns, ship-decked harbor, 
ocean expanse, and mountains that rise in silent majesty. No pen can paint 
the picture. It must be seen to be appreciated. 

Passing through Pacific Beach you soon reach Ocean Front. The beach 
at this point is one of the finest natural boulevards on the western coast. It 
was here 

A thousand years old ocean beat 

His giant strength against the shore 

And all the rugged, rock-strewn floor 
Grew level 'neath his restless feet. 

By sturdy blows he wrought his plan, 
And laid earth's towering bulwarks low; 
A thousand years with ebb and flow, 

He paved a boulevard for man. 

Four miles with the sound of the sea in your ears, and a prolonged whistle 
from the motor's throat proclaims the fact that La JoUa, "the gem of the sea" 
has been reached. At the station the crowded coaches are delivered of their 
passengers, who immediately form groups, and lesser parties, with expectant 
faces turned seaward. 

Of all this constant stream of humanity drifting in and out of La Jolla 
but few have heard of the beautiful white lady who stands at the mouth of 
one of the caves. To some she is only an accidental formation of nature, but 
she is a marvel and a mystery to those who, having known her in life, recog- 
nize an acquaintance in the specter of the caves. 

Nature made La Jolla and man can neither add to nor take from the 
charm of her attractions. The pretty seaside cottages that crown the high- 
lands, overlooking the ocean, with their wide porches and variety of archi- 
tecture are an interesting spectacle, but these are not La Jolla. The boom, 
boom of gigantic breakers beating their unconquerable strength against the 
rocks, and dashing the foam of their rage hundreds of feet in the air, with the 
marvelous ocean ever surging back of them, hold you with a mystic fascina- 
tion, but these are not La Jolla. The merry bathers in the surf, and the little 
children with their bright dresses making dashes of color on shell beach from 
June to June the year's long day, are ever a pleasure and a delight, but they 
are not La Jolla. All these are common to seaside resorts, but the magnifi- 
cent handiwork of that grand old sculptor. Father Pacific, in his peculiar 
formations and ornamentations of the huge rocks which Mother Nature has 
placed convenient for his use : Cathedral Rock, the Fisherman's Bridge, 
Alligator Head, and especially the deep, mysterious caves from whence its 
name originated, these are the most attractive features of La Jolla. These 
are La Jolla. 

The murmur of the sea is in your ears, its saline fingers cling to your 
garments, and touch your lips with soft caresses. Your practical other self 
slips away from you under the mesmeric influence of this dream-inviting 
presence, and wandering on and on you enter the great caves, and become 
■fascinated with the novelties of the animal and vegetable life in the solitudes 
of these rock-ribbed caverns. You take no heed of the passage of time, or the 
distance over which your eager feet have traveled. 

Here upon a rock is a specimen of sea-weed, pink as the heart of a rose, 
its delicate tracery like finest lace-work, yonder is a whole community of 
squirming inhabitants carrying their houses on their backs, and conducting 
their affairs of state after their own best approved methods. A step farther 

87 



H i s t 7' i c Facts and Fancies 



and anotluT interest attracts your attention, al)sr)rl)in^" y<>nr tliou.^iits witli 
animated speculation. IVesently becoming weary of the rock-walled, rock- 
tloored cavern, you turn your face to its entrance and are startled by the 
spectacle that meets your gaze. 

There, in the mouth of the cave, tilling its entire space, stands a tall, 
white lady. She is robed in shimmering garments of light, wrapped in a misty 
veil, and on her head is a wreath like a coronet of orange blossoms. You see 
at a glance that she is beautiful, and stately as a (|uccn, for though her features 
are not visible, the outlines of her graceful form are perfect in every detail. 
She stands in an expectant attitude, with her face turned to the right as if 
listening. ( )ne hand is partly raised, and you know instinctively that she 
is in search of some one. Her dress falls in rainbow-tinted folds to her feet, 
and sweeps in a long, billowy train oxer the unexen surface of the rock-strewn 
entrance. 

\'ou stand breathless with amazement. Heretofore Aour ]>hilosopliy ad- 
mitted no credence of the white lady of La Jolla. but can your eyes deceive 
you? liehold, she stands before you trailing her bridal robes over the slimy 
stones. She has taken possession of the cave with her radiant presence, whose 
only substance is light, ^'ou can see the foam-flecked waters tossing back of 
her. and. looking directly through her discover a rowboat drifting idly with 
the tide while matters of greater importance than its guidance occupy the 
cou])le whose heads lean closer as hearts speak through the windows of the 
soul. Presently the boat drifts past, and once more the white lady holds 
solitary possession of the entrance. As you stand there lost in amazement 
and conjecture, a wave rushes past her, submerges her train, and cree])ing in, 
touches the hem of your dress with damp, chill}' fingers. You are startled 
from your surprised discovery with a sudden premonition of danger, and 
hastil}' seeking a place of safety }ou recall the story of the white lady, as 
related to you that morning. 

Mrs. Trumbar is one of the many lodging-house keepers in San Diego, 
and although only an ordinary woman to all appearances she is. in fact, an un- 
abridged volume of reminiscences connected with the old Spanish-American 
settlement of San Diego, and adjacent country. Nothing escapes her observa- 
tion, and she ne\'er forgets. 

There is much of the supernatural connected with the romantic history 
of San Diego, and it is- often difficult to discern just where the real event is 
merged in the imaginative. Tradition affirms that departed spirits habitually 
wander about lonely places at all hours after sunset, and startle the belated 
totirist in his search for curious specimens of land and sea to add to his 
collection. Who has not heard of the cowled padre of the San Diego mission 
who, on moonlight nights, wanders restlessly up and down, over and under 
the ruined acpieduct beyond the mission walls, as if inspecting the work, and 
assuring himself that his army of Indian laborers are perforiuing it satis- 
factorily? And who has not heard of the beautiful Indian maiden searching 
for her recreant lover through the canyons and among the tangled growth of 
Point Loma? Parties cam])ing in the Alission Valley have seen the old padre, 
and tourists have caught fleeting glimpses of the Indian maiden. 

And there are other stories. Mrs. Trumbar can tell nou all about them, 
relating each story in detail, and giving you minute directions how and when 
to approach the scene of the ghostly wanderings in order to obtain the best 
results and be convinced that she has not deceived yon. 

As you prei)are for your day's outing Mrs. Trumbar approaches from the 



Historic Facts and Fancies 

kitchen, wiping" the dishwater from her brown fingers on her apron (she is 
always washing" dishes, it seems to you), and begins: 

"What place do you visit today?" adding, before you can reply, "I might 
suggest — oh, it's La Jolla, is it? Well, you'll enjoy the day out there, I can 
tell you. Let me see — " whisking the daily paper from a pile of like literature 
on the stand in the corner of the room, and finding the tide table. Her moist 
forefinger follows down the column and finally halts with a satisfactory pres- 
sure, and the anxiety lifts from her face as she announces that you have 
chosen the right day to visit La Jolla, regardless of the fact that in planning 
your trip you have evidently consulted the tide table for yourself. 

"It is all right," she informs you. "It will be low tide at noon. You are 
just in luck. You can see the white lady best at the noon hour." 

"Ever heard of the white lady of the caves?" she continues as you fasten a 
coil of your hair in place, and proceed with other details of your toilet. You 
are a little fearful that her narrative may crowd upon your time, but the 
slight negative movement of your head is sufficient encouragement. She 
accordingly settles herself comfortably in the generous rocker that sways her 
ample figure to and fro as she relates the story. 

"Never heard of her? Well, now. I must tell you, or you'll miss half the 
interest of the trip. It's like visiting Europe without a guide, or any knowl- 
edge of the places you're going to see, to go to La Jolla without having 
heard the story of the beautiful bride, and — oh, yes, her husband, too, of 
course. 

"It was long before the 'boom;' before the railroad came, and almost 
before the world knew that there was such a place as San Diego. There were 
only a few families of us living here then, in what ivas San Diego, but is now 
called Old Town, and we used to get what comfort we could out of life in 
this lonesome corner of the world. Some families had come over to New 
Town, but we were not among them. 

"One year between Thanksgiving and Christmas time a young couple 
came down in the stage from Los Angeles and stopped at my house. All 
the best people stopped at my house in them days, but the big hotels have 
fairly crowded me out since the boom. Though, to be sure," with an appre- 
hensive glance at you, and a quick indrawing of the breath, "the best people 
often stop with me now. 

"These young folks I was speaking al^out were on their wedding trip ; 
though, dear sakes alive ! it must have been a hard one. all the way down 
from Los Angeles in that bumpy old stage. I can't imagine what ever induced 
them to come a traipsin" away down here to the end of the earth, unless it was 
to get away from everybody, and be all by themselves. I can see the bride 
this minute as she came up the walk that day, as tall as any queen, and every 
bit as handsome, too. Her eyes were as blue as the gentian flowers I used 
to gather when I was a little girl, and somehow I always thought of them 
whenever I looked at her. And her dresses ! Why, a queen might well have 
envied them, they were that fine. I remember of telling Maria (Maria 
was my sister, and lived with me then, but she has died since, poor dear) ; I 
remember well of telling her that I thought it a burning shame to waste all 
of them pretty dresses in an out-of-the-wa}^ corner like this. But I don't 
imagine she had them made specially for San Diego, and being a bride she 
had to have them anyhow. 

"Yes, I know you'll have to be ofif pretty soon, so I'll hasten with the 
story. The bride — their name was Hathaway, to match their fine clothes, 
but I always called her 'the bride' — she wanted to visit every lonely place 

89 



Historic Facts and Fancies 

she could hear of, and couldn't hardly content herself to rest up from that 
tiresome trip down from Los Angeles. I fixed up my best bedroom for them, 
and laid myself out to make her feel at home. I flatter myself that I suc- 
ceeded, too, for the morning they started for La Jolla she was as ch.ip])er as a 
bird, the poor dear. 

"Mr. Hathaway engaged Trumbar to drive them to La Jolla, and I put up 
a lunch for them good enough to make a king's mouth water, if I do say it. 
There was cold turkey left over from Sunday's dinner, and piccalilli, "and 
pound cake, and olives raised on a tree of our own, and mince pie in a tin can 
to keep it from mussin', and — I can't begin to rcmenil)er half of the good 
things I put in that basket, but there wasn't a bite of it eaten 1)y any one, for 
they, poor souls, never came back again, and 'IVumbar was tliat frightened 
and w^orried that he never even opened the basket or thought of eating." 

A moment of impressive silence, and Mrs. Truml)ar resumes: 

"It was pitch dark before Trumbar got home that night, and I w^as 
nearly beside myself with anxiety, but the minute I set eyes on him I knew 
that some terrible thing had happened, for he looked like an old man, and 
shook as if he had an ague chill all the while he was telling me about it. He 
said that as soon as they reached La Jolla the young couple went oft hunting 
for shells and sea things along the beach, and finally wandered ofT in the 
direction of the caves. After he had unhitched and fed the horses he found 
a comfortable place, and smoked for a while, then feeling drowsy, stretched 
out in the sunshine and took a nap. He said he must have slept a long 
time for when he awakened he was sort of numb all over. He had hardly 
whipped the feeling back into his fingers when he heard a cry of terror 
coming from the direction of the caves, and he knew in a minute that it was 
the bride calling to her husband. He ran to the place where he could see the 
caves, and there, away at almost the farthest one stood Airs. Hathaway 
at the entrance. He saw that the tide had turned and was running in so 
strong that a wave splashed over her feet, and seemed to catch at her with 
its awful white fingers. She was so timid about venturing near the water 
that he knew something had happened to whip up her courage to that extent, 
for the roaring of the sea behind her, and the darkness of the caves must have 
a])palled her. Probably Air. Hathaway had left her with the story book she 
had brought with her, while he went inside, and became so intent on what 
he was finding that he hadn't noticed the tide was rising. It was rolling in 
pretty strong before she discovered it, and becoming frightened at her 
husband's long stay, had gone in search of him. 

"Trumbar tried to get to her, but he was a long distance away with a lot 
of climbing to do getting down to her. When he came to the bluff over- 
looking the caves, he called to her to come back at once, for he could see that 
a monstrous wave was coming, but it was useless, as he knew, for no sound 
of his voice could reach her through all that distance. She began flinging 
her arms about and wringing her hands, and just at that moment a big wave 
rushed in with an awful sound, and" — with a hush in her voice, and a spas- 
modic catch in her breath, "and that was all. Trumbar never saw either of 
them after that, though he waited about, calling and watching, hoping to see 
their bodies, if nothing more. 

"It was almost night before he started for home, and by that time the 
caves were full of water, and he knew there was no use waiting any longer. 

"The next day Truml)ar and two of our neighbors drove to La Jolla, 
though they knew before they started that it was useless, and that they would 
never see the young couple again, unless the waves washed their bodies 

90 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



ashore. They spent the whole day searching- the caves and the rocks, but 
they found no trace of them, not even so much as the book Mrs. Hathaway 
had left on the rocks when she went in search of her husband, for the tide had 
been uncommon high during the night, and had washed even that away. 

''^^^len the searchers came home that night we knew that we must try to 
find the friends of the young couple, and in looking over their belongings 
we found the address of her folks. We wrote to them at once, telling them of 
the dreadful thing that had happened to their daughter and her husband. 
After a few weeks (it took a long time in them days to make the trip) her 
brother came on, and nothing would do but he must go to the place where 
his sister had lost her life. So one day Trumbar and I drove him over to 
La Jolla. 

"I put up a good lunch for I knew we would need considerable sustaining 
during the ordeal that was before us, to say nothing of the long, tiresome ride 
through the sage-brush. The minute we got to La Jolla the young man 
(Ross Willard was his name, and he was tall and handsome like his sister) 
was for going right on to the cave where Trumbar had last seen her. The 
nearest way was down an almost perpendicular gully of loose shale, and the 
most we could do was to slide from top to bottom. Ross Willard went ahead, 
and as w^e was a-slipping and a-sliding down that awful place I could not 
help thinking how like a funeral procession it was, with this young man who 
had come so many miles to visit the only grave his poor sister would prob- 
ably ever have, and we two, who had learned to like the young couple so much 
in the little while we had known them, following along behind. I was pretty 
tired when we got to the bottom, for there wasn't any steps to make it easy 
for one in them days as there is now, and if Ld been as heavy as I am now 
I never could have got down in the world. When we reached the bottom 
I would like to have rested a bit and got my breath, but Ross Willard rushed 
ahead, and we followed as fast as we could. 

"He hurried into the cave as though he expected to find his sister there. 
He disappeared into the one where Trumbar had last seen her, and as he 
turned to speak to us a look came into his face that Lll never forget if I live 
a hundred years. We were following him, and our backs were to the light, 
but his face was toward the opening, and as he turned it suddenly went white, 
and he cried out : 

"'My sister! Look there! It is Bertha in her wedding dress!' 

"We turned, and there she stood in the mouth of the cave, on the very 
spot where death had found her. She didn't have on the traveling dress she 
wore that day, but was dressed in her wedding gown. We could see the 
orange wreath in her hair, and her long train spread out over the stones. It 
was as if the whole entrance had formed her shape. It wasn't just the outlines 
of a woman. It was Mrs. Hathaway. You come to know a woman as much 
by her form as by her face, and Mrs. Hathaway was rather uncommon in her 
build. She was taller and more graceful than most women, carrying her 
head erect with a dignity that would have seemed haughty if it had not been 
for the sweet graciousness of her manner. 

"When I saw her, standing there like life, I was that frightened you 
could have knocked me down with a feather, but all Ross Willard seemed 
to think of was to get to her at once. He pushed Trumbar aside and started 
for the place where she was standing. We turned and followed, but all at 
once she disappeared, and the opening was just like any other." 

Mrs. Trumbar's voice is hushed. The clock ticks loudly on the mantel. 
The piping voice of a mocking-bird drifts in through the open window. Little 

91 



Historic Facts and Fancier 



awesome chills creep up your back, and you find that in spite of your j^hilos- 
ophy the story 3-ou have mentally dcsip^nated as a pretty invention has 
strani^ely im])ressed you. 

"We are quite sure." Mrs. Trumljar continues after a momentary pause, 
duriiii^ which her finj::^ers have pulled nervously at a broken splint in the 
chair, "that the one place where the bride is visible is the spot where her 
young husband stood when he heard her voice calling to him, and looking up 
discovered her with the great wave rolling in at her back, on that fatal day. 
It may be that the ocean repents the destruction of those two young lives, 
and has chiseled her form from the edges of the rocks, and set it in the 
entrance of the cave as a warning to others, but I will never admit that the 
likeness is just accidental. It is too perfect." 




Across tl)e 4^lain5 

San Jose Woman's Clulj. 

XI'^ of tlie pioneers of California who did much to advance the 
interests of the Golden State was Mr. E. ( ). Smith of San Jose, 
and it is with pleasure tliat his daughter here records his life in 
the ])ioneer days of California: 

Horn and raised near the city of Baltimore. Maryland, on a 
])lantation. with many negro slaves about and with very meager 
school advantages, my father, Edward Owen Smith, left the 
familiar scenes of childhood at the earlv age of seventeen, with 
but a few dollars in his pocket, for the very nciv' \\'est. then but little known. 
He arrived in Decatur. Illinois, in 1837. while it was still a tiny, uncouth 
cluster of scattered cabins, giving small promise of the beautiful city of today. 
Here he remained some years, living a strenuous life of activity, both for public 
and private gain. He gained a prominent place in the respect and regard of the 
"makers of a commonwealth," and early won for a helpmate a winsome girl of 
si.xteen, proceeding to found a home whose generous hospitality was widely 
known. His services to his adopted State in the troublous days of its infancy 
are inscribed in the pages of the history of Illinois.. 

But the West still called, and in 1853 he took the Emigrant Trail at the head 
of a band of thirty-nine young men, reaching the Golden State in one hundred 
days, with no more than the usual percentage of misha])s. He later returned to 
Decatur. A second journey, begtm in 1858, which took almost two years of 
traveling to accomplish, was filled with perilous and thrilling incidents. 

Having gathered a large drove of cattle and hcirses in southwestern 
Missouri and Indian Territory, he set out for the Pacific by the way of New 
Mexico and Arizona. With his company of forty-one young men he explored 
his way from Fort (iibson to Albu(iuerque, being twice attacked by Indians on 
the warpath, but successfullx' driving them off with no loss of life to the com- 
pany. In one of these attacks, the camp was sheltered by the huge wagons, with 
the stock inside the circle and the men on guard. Around and around rode the 
naked savages, with their sturdy ponies going at the top of their speed and their 
riders clinging to the far side with only a leg thrown around the beast. Closer 
and closer they came in narrowing circles until some rifle ball fotmd the heart 
of the helpless beast and horse and rider were thrown headlong. 

92 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



x*\t last the battle proved too costly for the dark-skinned aggressors and 
they disappeared as suddenly as they came. 

Plve hundred miles west of the Rio Grande, among the San Francisco moun- 
tains, the brave train of travelers encountered a body of returning immigrants 
who had been driven back after eight of their number had been killed and almost 
all of their cattle stampeded. The rescue of this party and their succor by the 
Smith party can be no better told than in the words of Mrs. Sarah Allen of 
California, who was then a girl of fourteen. She says : 

"In April, 1858, the Brown, Rose and Jones train consisting of twenty-five 
men, some women and children and several hundred head of fine cattle and horses, 
started from Iowa for California, going by way of New Mexico and California. 
After four months of tedious journeying, on the bank of the Colorado River, about 
two hundred miles from Fort Yuma, we were attacked by the Mohave Indians. 
In the fearful struggle eight of our men were killed, including my father, and 
many more were seriously wounded. 

"Mv mother, with her five children, took refuge in a wagon and wrapped 
up in the bedding, but, even so, I was shot in the stomach with an arrow, which 
stopped half way through and was pulled out by my brave mother . The little 
apron, with its two suggestive arrow holes, is still preserved. 

"All that remained of our fine herd of cattle were a very few which the 
Indians missed when they drove them across the river. With one wagon so ar- 
ranged that the worst wounded could lie down, and one other out of our seven, 
containing all our food, clothing and supplies, we took up our weary backward 
journey to civilization. 

"All that my grief-stricken mother saved for herself and five children she put 
into a flour sack and we knew what ivant was in the days which followed — suffer- 
ing from the distressing heat and lack of food and water. As our cattle gradually 
gave out with exhaustion, they were killed one by one, to be eaten by the almost 
famished travelers. 

"Three or four weeks after the battle, as we were encamped about sundown 
in a canon, there appeared in the dim distance, slowly descending the steep and 
rugged declivity, a train of prairie schooners, preceded by a drove of horses in 
single file, coming with a solemn and even tramp, tramp, and to our wondering 
eyes they appeared like mammoths almost descending from the skies for our 
succor ! 

"Soon we were surrounded by men, horses and comparative comfort. To my 
mother's camp that night came some flour and beans, the best the world ever saw ! 
The following day a wagon with more comforts was given to us, and we had the 
blessing of rest also, after our weary trudging backward, mile on mile, so very 
weary and footsore. 

"Our rescuers proved to be a company of hardy adventurers from Illinois, 
under the leadership of Mr. E. O. Smith, who, after hearing our story of hard- 
ship and danger, and with the winter coming on, voted to turn back with us to 
the settlements, five or six hundred miles, near Albuquerque. 

"After this we traveled together, our rescuers providing food for all, daily 
killing their cattle, until the huge herd was rapidly disappearing, and finally 
the stock of supplies was reduced to beef without salt, and a few crumbs of 
crackers, which Mr. Smith declared 'the best dish he ever tasted." Never once 
did he lose patience or cheerfulness, and he was always ready to enliven others 
with a joke or witty story or anecdote. 

"We were thus proceeding slowly in our struggle toward the nearest settle- 
ment, when a few of the men volunteered to hurry ahead to procure corn and 
other food, which they did. 

93 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



"Time crept slowly on, and one bleak night we were encamped in a i)iece of 
woods with a crackling camp-fire to cheer us, when 'Yellow Breeches,' one of 
the volunteers, arrived with food ! 

"Joy reig^ned supreme for some moments, with the warmest of welcomes 
for 'Yellow Breeches," and then Mr. Smith announced: 'The Government has 
sent to every man, woman, and child of us a month's rations.' Three cheers for 
the Government made the woods ring, and then Mr. Smith continued : 'The 
Freemasons of Santa Fe have sent to Mrs. Brown — ' (my widowed mother), 
but here his voice faltered and he broke down, w^hile the only sound heard was 
sobs from every one in camp. 

"The Masons had sent to inother money and clothing, but our tender-hearted 
leader could scarcely tell of the good fortune come to us after all our trials. 

"After a time w'e reached the Rio Grande, where Mr. Smith went into winter 
quarters with his party, ofifering to give my mother any assistance he could to 
reach her former home, but, as she had a brother in San Francisco, she decided 
to remain with the party and again try the perilous journey to the Pacific. The 
rest of her party left them, and she spent a most toilsome year in camp with 
her five young children, but always receiving the greatest courtesy and kindliest 
consideration from the strong, brave men whose hard journey she shared. 

"After going into winter quarters, the men soon grew restless and determined 
to push on, so we set out in January, 1859, and after traveling 1300 miles through 
Xew Mexico and Arizona, reached San Francisco in April, i860. 

"At one time three of us girls, with two of the men, got separated from the 
company, and really w^ere lost for a day and a night in a perilous Indian 
country, each division thinking the other killed, and when we did meet again, 
face to face, at nightfall of the second day, Mr. Smith laughed and made light 
of what W'e had all suffered, but completely broke down when mother met her 
children ! And when my little brother died and his body had to be buried 
away out on the vast plains, we all mourned the pet and playfellow of the whole 
camp. 

"In Arizona, while passing through the Apache country, we had evidence that 
the Indians were on the warpath, but Mr. Smith, who was in the habit of riding 
ahead of the party on his small pony to search for water and a suitable camping- 
place, was much surprised one evening, after entering a canon which broadened 
into a fertile and sheltered valley, to find himself in the midst of a party of two 
hundred Apache braves on the warpath and in the midst of a war council. 
As he was utterly defenseless, he concluded that tact and friendliness must carry 
him through, so he halted beside the water, took off his saddle, and watered and 
tethered his pony. 

"Then with all the composure and speech that he could master, he saluted his 
silent audience. 

"Their chief took it in good ])art and accepted an invitation to supper with 
the palefaces later on. Mr. Smith had a very large, well-rounded head which 
was blessed with only a very slight fringe of hair around the ears and at the 
back, and he sometimes told about once riding in among a lot of Indians and 
removing his hat according to the white man's courtesy, when he was amazed 
to see the sensation caused thereby. The Indians were astonished beyond 
measure, and he afterwards learned that they firmly believed that he had been 
scalped, and still lived ! This was probably the very occasion on which this 
happened and may partially explain the events which follow. 

"When the rest of us arrived, you can imagine our surj^rise and terror, but 
Mr. Smith hastened to my mother and cautioned her to show no fear for the 
sake of her life and her children, but to hasten and cook the best supper she 

94 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



could get up. In the meantime, at some sign from the chief, the whole band 
of warriors disappeared, but at supper the chief and two other braves were the 
guests of honor, afterwards smoking the peace pipe and stolidly accepting gifts 
of red flannel shirts and glass beads, which must have given them pleasure, 
because they assured Mr. Smith that he and his camp would be entirely safe, 
and then disappeared in silence. 

"Our leader ordered that no watch be kept that night, relying on his new 
friends keeping faith, but not one wink of sleep came to the older heads in all 
the camp that night, and the morning found a grateful company. When 
breakfast was ready the same chief and braves appeared to share it, and, at its 
conclusion, the chief took off his quiver full of arrows, and gave it with his bow, 
which was of beautiful workmanship and all highly ornamented, to Mr. Smith, 
telling him that it would save him all trouble from Apaches if he showed it with 
its autograph of Cochise! 

"Our guest was indeed the famous Cochise, the most bloodthirsty of the 
Apache chiefs against the whites, and he was only won by the evidence of 
superb courage displayed by Mr. Smith. 

"This was our last meeting with Indians, although we suspected that we 
were watched by them for several days on our way." 

This ends the narrative of Mrs. Allen, and it is pleasant to say that the 
strenuous days of her early life were succeeded by peaceful and happy times 
later. 

In the autumn of i860, Mr. Smith started from Los Angeles for Texas, 
intending to make arrangements for raising horses in the latter State. In 
passing through the Apache country his company was attacked by thirty In- 
dians, who killed seven horses, but were then driven off. There were but seven 
men in the party, one of whom was sick. Later, while crossing the Staked 
Plains, they had to travel eighty-six miles without water. On reaching Texas, 
the first sight that met their puzzled gaze was the Lone Star Flag of the 
republic of Texas, and then they learned for the first time that Abraham Lincoln 
had been elected President and that Texas had withdrawn from the Union, and 
had started out as an independent State. 

Leaving two men in Texas, with whom he had made arrangements to 
raise horses on shares, Mr. Smith hastened to Illinois, hearing nothing on the 
way but war talk and preparations for secession. He scarcely expected to hear 
again from the investment in. Texas, which was all but forgotten in the troublous 
days which followed, but, seven years later, to his great surprise, his share of 
the venture was delivered to him in Decatur. 

In 1870 Mr. Smith again crossed the plains to the Golden State, which had 
captured his heart, but not this time on back of pony or with the slow prairie 
schooner, for the great Union Pacific Railroad had been finished, and this 
journey was made in a comfortable car propelled by steam. 

Settling in the lovely Santa Clara Valley with his talented second wife and 
part of his family, he passed a number of peaceful years, useful alike to his 
fellow-citizens, neighbors, and large circle of friends. He held many important 
offices and served in the convention at Sacramento which framed the constitu- 
tion for our State. 

Chief among his pleasures, in his later years, were his visits with his brave 
companion on the plains, Mrs. Brown, who passed a peaceful eventide near her 
children, who delighted to honor her. 



95 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




Historic Facts and Fancie 



s 




Historic Facts and Fancies 




(Talifornla incidents 

Notes by Mrs. \\. l\cyii()l(l>. Alameda Tea Clul). 

SAX iRAXCisco IX 1852. 

HAT a straggling, primitive town it was. but nuicb grown and 
changed since four years before ! 

Previous to the discovery of gold in California. San Fran- 
cisco was only a calling-place for whalers, and a ])ort from which 
skins and hides were shipped. A few rudely built houses, no 
streets, no wharves, nothing except its magnificent harbor to mark 
it as the place that was to become the great future metropolis of 
the Pacific Coast. 
I still remember walking up to the old Rassette House, on the corner of 
Sansome and Bush streets, where later stood the Cosmopolitan Hotel. It was 
a plain wooden structure, in the rear of which rose a sandhill fullv seventy-five 
feet high. 

Even then the city claimed a population of ten thousand souls. Sansome 
and Clay streets touched the bay. The Xiantic and Tehama, popular hotels of 
the time on these streets, were built on hulks of old vessels. The streets were 
not graded, but could boast of rude plank sidewalks in front of most of the 
buildings. 

On Montgomery, south of Pine, there were no buildings ; in fact, there was 
nothing on this street south of California. On going south from that street, one 
waded deeper and deeper in the sand hills. Across ^Market street was "Happy 
X'alley" ; still farther south. Verba Buena, wdiich had been utilized by the 
earlier settlers as a burying ground. All the land beyond Taylor street, not 
covered by sandhills, was used for growing potatoes. The old ^Mission Dolores 
Church was reached by a horseback ride from JNIontgomery street. 

Long Wharf extended from Sansome street, on Commercial, to Drumm 
street. The river steamers left this wharf for the interior towns of Stockton, 
]\Iarysville, and Sacramento. To Marysville freight was thirty dollars per ton; 
to Stockton, twenty dollars, and Sacramento, ten. A steamboat would by its 
profits pay for itself in one month. Commercial street, from Sansome to 
Montgomery, was lined with Jew clothing stores. "Peter Funk Auction Stores" 
they were called. 

Beef, game, and fish were abundant. The seagull rookeries of the Faral- 
lones supplied the market with gulls' eggs, which sold for one dollar per dozen. 
Hens' eggs were worth almost their weight in gold. I remember a cou])le of 
young men, recently from Tennessee, dropped into Aldrich's for breakfast one 
morning. Not being aware of the rarity, and consequent price, of eggs in 
California, and having five dollars still left with which to pay for breakfast for 
two, calmly ordered their usual breakfast of eggs and toast. When the bill was 
presented, the young gentlemen saw to their consternation that the amount was 
ten dollars. They had only five. What was to be done ? 

-Vfter a hasty consultation, it was decided that one should remain while the 
other went in search of Colonel Gift, an old-time friend, whom they knew to 
be in the city. 

The colonel was soon found. After hearing the story and asking who was 
with him, he inc|uired what they had had for breakfast. "Eggs," was the reply. 
"Eggs! Eggs!" exclaimed the colonel. "Did you not know, you blankety 
blank, that hens lay gold in California? " 

98 



Historic Facts a n d * F a n c i e s 



"I did not, but I do," said our young friend. 

"Well," continued the colonel, kindly handing over a fifty-dollar gold slug, 
"take this, and remember after this you are not in Tennessee where eggs are 
given away." ^^^^ lIrgest Bet. 

The El Dorado was a typical Western place of amusement in those early 
days, being a gambling house where all kinds of games were played by all kinds 
of people. The largest bet of which I ever heard was made here. 

A man by the name of Moore had been betting and lost, over and over, 
sums aggregating several thousands of dollars on the game of faro. Finally, as 
he turned to leave, the dealer asked : 

"Are you through ?" Moore halted, hesitated, then turning and taking a 
key from his pocket, held it up and said : 

"I will bet you everything in my safe, which this key unlocks, on the ten." 

"How much is in your safe?" inquired the dealer. 

"I do not know, but it is a large svmi. If you win, take the key, open the 
safe and secure all the money you find there. If I win, we will go to the safe 
together, count the money, and you must cover the amount," was the answer. 

The challenge was accepted, the bet made, and Moore won something over 
forty-seven thousand dollars ! 

Joaquin AIurietta. 

One of the most formidable bands of outlaws of those times w'as headed 
by a Mexican named Joaquin Murietta. He was a bold and daring leader, and 
there was a touch of the romantic about his deeds that was very interesting. 
For about two years the whole State, from Yuba to Kern Counties, was terror- 
ized by this band of daring men. Almost daily during that time the papers told 
of Chinamen, found in the roads, murdered and tied together by their pigtails, 
their throats cut from ear to ear ; which was recognized as the work of "Three- 
fingered Jack," a lieutenant of Murietta's band. 

Many and thrilling were the stories told of Murietta ; and vast rewards 
were offered for his head. When the first reward of $5,000 was offered by 
the government, and notices to that effect were posted in the town of Stockton, 
one quiet Sunday, in the afternoon, there came riding into town a fine, pic- 
turesquely dressed Mexican. His six-shooter by his side, his scrape thrown care- 
lessly over his shoulder, his broad Spanish hat set jauntily on his head, and 
a cigarette held daintily .between his fingers, he might have attracted the 
admiration of any one possessed of an eye for the artistically romantic of any 
land. This stranger was seen to dismount and read the proclamation of reward 
for Murietta's head. Then he took a pencil from his pocket to write some- 
thing underneath. After he had ridden away, some one went to see what the 
stranger had added to the posted bill. Imagine the wonder and surprise when 
were found these words : "I will give $10,000 more. Joaquin Murietta." 

Near Lancha Plana, a mining camp contiguous to Placerville, a former 
acquaintance of Murietta met him on the road riding. They trotted along side 
by side for an hour or two, conversing pleasantly together. Murietta stated that 
he wished to do him no harm, that he had some business in the country which 
he wished kept secret, and warned him that if he went into town and made 
public the fact that Murietta had been seen, he would surely kill the man 
who told. Not heeding this timely warning of the bandit chief, the man 
disclosed all he had learned. Next day, while a posse was searching the country 
and mountains for the outlaw, Murietta dashed into town, and seeing the man 
who had betrayed him sitting in front of a store, rode up suddenly, shot him 
to death, and then dashed away. 

99 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



Murietta had the sympathy of all the Mexicans in the State, for they ever 
felt aggrieved at the invasion of the Americans, whom they thought had robbed 
them of their liirthright. This made the ca])ture of the outlaw and his gang 
very difificult. Posses were many times organized against him. but were always 
unsuccessful. One of these he entirely destroyed; falling up(»n them at night, 
they were forced into pitched battle, and Murietta killed every one. IMurietta 
was finally captured by Harry Love, in 1854. who, suddenly coming upon their 
camp in Kern County, killed both Murietta and "Three-fingered Jack.'' The 
head of the bandit chief and the hand of "Three-fingered Jack" were ])reserved 
in spirits and taken to the ca])ital for identification. These grewsome ol)iects 
were afterwards put on exhibition and I once had a look at them. 



Saxi Joaquin ^ocKs 

Coalinga Improvement Club. 

Note. — This narrative is written from facts obtained from people who were living 
in the immediate vicinity in 1884 and 1887. and there can be no doubt of its authenticity. 

.\L1I"( )RXIA has furnished to the idle many liours of pleasure 
in her beautiful legends and traditions. Some of them have 
descended from one generation to another, but many have 
been the work of some productive and imaginati\e brain. In 
scamiing the pages of tradition we are highly entertained, but 
to awaken the special interest which comes only with truth 

we nuist look to historical narratives. 

In the early days of California, when gold was the all- 
attracting magnet, there li\ed in Central California the noted desperado, 
Joacpiin Murietta. He robbed and murdered the people of the valleys and 
then sought safety by fleeing into the mountains. His main rendezvous was 
on the summit of the Coast Range Moimtains. in what is now the western 
portion of b^resno county. It is reached by winding trails up the mountain- 
sides. ( )ne trail leads from the Cantua Creek on the northeast and the other 
from tlie Los Gatos Creek on the southeast. It is known by the name of 
"The San Joacjuin Rocks." and is some ten miles from the little town of 
Coalinga. 

Three enormous rocks enclose a small area, about an acre in extent, and 
as steep mountains descend on every side it is well protected frt)m invasion. 

Springs of cold water gush from these rocks; towering trees and climbing 
vines protect them from the view of man, and make this an inviting ])lace 
of refuge. Here Joaquin was safe from pursuit and a small army would 
have sufifercd heavy losses in attempting to capture him. 

It was in the early fifties that he flourished, but. after many thrilling 
escapes from armed ])osses. he was killed at the foot of the trail, on the 
Cantua side of the mountain. 

His wife. Miriana Murietta, survived him for many years and always 
remained in the vicinity of these rocks or in the valley of the same name. 
She was of that type of Mexican known as Mcstico (more Indian than 
Spanish). Tall and gaunt with a nature as cruel as her husband's, she had 
indeed been a flt companion for liim. licing possessed of great persuasive 
powers, she had much influence o\er the easy-going Mexicans, and so 
worked upon their imaginations that tlic\- held her in reverence, believing 

100 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



her possessed of supernatural power. Manuel Silva, a young- Portuguese, 
was her companion, and together they planned and executed a diabolical 
scheme. 

For a year or more they wandered from house to house and gradually 
worked out the undertaking planned months before. In the rude huts by 
the dim light thrown out from log fires, she told weird tales of strange dreams 
and communications from the Virgin Mary. She told them that God had 
revealed Himself to her in a dream and desired that she go among His 
children and proclaim His teachings. The "judgment morning" was near at 
hand and He wished that she should lead the people to a selected spot. 

Hundreds sold their homes and cattle and followed these two impostors 
to Joacjuin Murietta's old rendezvous. These huge rocks were once beautiful 
churches (so she told them) inhabited by monks, but destroyed by the hand of 
God because the people had neglected their faith to seek more worldly pleas- 
ures. Three depressions in the rocks were supposed to contain holy water 
which they were permitted to use. The Mexicans believed that the water 
was placed there by the will of God and little did they dream that these 
depressions were fed by natural springs beneath the rocks. 

At night by the dim light of the moon or by small tires, spirit forms would 
suddenly emerge from some nook in the rocks and talk with the frightened 
people. They proclaimed themselves aged priests who had once been in 
charge of these churches and sent again to teach the truths of Christ. 

For three years the belief in Miriana was kept up, provisions were packed 
up the steep mountains by pack animals and hundreds of cattle slauglitered. 
Homes and friends were deserted and many of the poor Mexicans gave their 
all to help continue the life on the mountain. This curious incident in 
California peasant history extends from the year 1884 to 1887. 

In her band of followers, numbering about three hundred, were three 
people that hold an individual interest in this narrative. They were Celestine 
Dies, his wife, Teresa, their baby, Juanita, and a brother, Juan Dies. They 
gave up homes, friends, and people to follow Miriana to this place. 

With the others they patiently awaited the morning when God would 
issue his summons and they would all disappear in a flood of light, to reappear 
on the shore of the promised land. At last, impatient at the long delay, the 
seeds of suspicion were sown, and one night, when the supposed priests 
issued from the rocks surrounded by brilliant lights (produced by the use 
of a sulphuric preparation) Celestine sprang forward and caught one of the 
forms. A wild struggle ensued, but the sheet was torn from the body, reveal- 
ing the cruel and ugly features of Miriana Murietta. 

Exposure had come at last and the camp broke up in great confusion, 
many preparmg to leave the following morning. The woman caught in 
her deception still made desperate but fruitless efforts to uphold her teach- 
ings and regain her lost power. 

When the party of three (Celestine, his wife and baby, with his brother) 
were preparing to leave, Miriana took up the child as if to extend a blessing 
and said to its parents, "If you go, this child will pass away before you reach 
the bottom of the trail." 

Although homeless and ashamed to seek their people, they ignored the 
woman's warning and commenced the long descent of the trail. All went well 
until near the foot when the baby became suddenly ill and in spite of its 
parents' efforts soon passed away. 

They hurried on to Fresno and had a warrant issued for the woman's 
arrest. She was placed in jail and brought to trial, but the evidence obtained 
was not strong enough for a conviction. 

lOI 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



The (leceixed ^lexicans scattered and souf^ht new homes to begin again 
the struggle of existence. Celestinc and his lirother would not go home, so 
sought employment from a sheep man. Juan had broken faith with his 
sweetheart to follow this woman and felt that he could not see her and bear 
her reproaches. 

Fate directed that the pastures for their flocks nuist be in the vicinitv 
of these rocks. Days passed, and Juan gloomily watched over the sheep, con- 
tinually filled with thoughts of his disappointments and troubles. 

One evening just before sunset, while resting on a fallen log. his atten- 
tion was attracted to a peculiar object. He was many miles from habitation 
and where the foot of man had scarcely ever trodden. In the branches of a 
mountain oak lay a sharpened stick cut by the hand of man and the point was 
aimed at the foot of another tree. The thought came to him, why should 
that stick be placed there? Joaquin Murietta flashed through his mind and 
the tales he had heard of buried treasure ! 

So he commenced to dig wildly and soon uncovered a silver-mounted 
saddle, ^•ery much decayed ; he dug on and unearthed money, both gold and 
silver. A\ hen he could find no more, he counted his wealth and found that 
he possessed about fifteen hundred dollars. He divided with his brother 
and they soon left the mountains to seek their own people. 

Juan found his sweetheart, asked her forgiveness and was pardoned. 
They are still living in California enjoying the blessing of a comfortable and 
happy home. 

]\Iiriana wandered in great distress many years, living in rude huts and 
begging her living from place to place. In 1903 she was killed by a Santa Fe 
locomotive near lianford. while wandering in an intoxicated condition down 
their track. 





1 





O^e 016 iDomln^ue^ ^ancl) 

(Situated about two and one-half miles south of Compton.) 
The Pathfinder Club of Compton. 

HE old Dominguez ranch was, originally, a part of the Rancho 
de San Pedro, which comprised some eighty thousand acres 
of land, extending from Compton as far as Redondo. and was 
given by the King of Spain, in the last century, to Don Juan 
Jose Dominguez. At his death Governor Pablo de Sola gave 
possession of the ranch to his brother, Don Cristobal, whose 
son, Don Manuel, upon the death of his father, took charge 
of the ranch and resided there imtil his death. 
In 1855 the ranch was partitioned ofif between Don Manuel, his brother 
Don Pedro, and his nephews, Don Manuel retaining 25.000 acres, including 
Rattlesnake Island in San Pedro Bay. After his death, which occurred 
October 11, 1882, the property, with the exception of the island and several 
thousand acres near the mouth of San Gabriel River, was divided among 
his six daughters, by whom it is still owned. 

The old adobe house, where the parents resided fifty-five years, is still 
preserved by the daughters; a fine chapel dedicated to the Roman Catholic 
faith being a part of the original house. 

Don Manuel Dominguez was a real old Spanish gentleman. Though 
born in San Diego, it is said, he could hardly liave been more thoroughly 

102 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



Spanish had he been born in Spain. He was a man of integrity and sterling 
character, respected by all his fellow-citizens, repeatedly honored by both 
Mexican and American governments with high and responsible positions. 

The Battle of Dominguez Ranch, fought at the time of the Mexican War, 
distinguishes it. On their way from San Pedro to Los Angeles, some 
Americans, being set upon by a company of Californians, took refuge in 
this ranch toward night, October 7, 1846. The American forces, under 
Mervin, were comprised of marines and seamen ; the Californians were led 
by Carrillo. On October 8, in an engagement, six Americans were killed and 
six wounded. The Americans behaved bravely, but Mervin, perceiving that 
it was impossible to deal with cavalry with soldiers on foot, retreated to San 
Pedro and re-embarked. 

These few facts have been culled, mostly, from a history of Los Angeles 
count}', published as recently as 1889, by the Lewis Publishing Company, of 
Chicago. 

The following is an account of the Battle of Dominguez Ranch, con- 
densed from one given by Stephen C. Foster, and found in the volume 
mentioned : 

"Alervin was encamped at the Dominguez ranch, expecting no resistance, 
when Carrillo, before daybreak, ordered the gun to be fired at the house. 
'Let us give the morning salute, boys,' was his order. The ball entered the 
window and sent the adobe clattering down on the sleepers, the roar of the 
gun giving them the unwelcome news that the enemy still had artillery. 
Carrillo then fell back on the road and formed his lancers in line, to one side. 




SANTA BARBARA MISSION. 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



The sailors and volunteers had not the least idea of forminj^^ a hollow square 
to resist cavalry, and Mer\in ordered them to close up when the lancers 
charged toward them. The sailors and marines obeyed orders and so formed 
a compact mass of two hundred and hfty men, crowded together. Two of 
the crew disnionnlcd. the others holding the horses, one maneu\ering the 
pole up and down, right and left, until the gunner got the range, when he 
fired, and, at the same time, the lancers charged, but wheeled about as soon 
as the gun was discharged; the gunners jumped on their horses and were off 
at full gallop until they got far enough ahead to reload, when the same 
maneuvers were repeated. In all, four shots \vere fired in this manner, the 
swarthy cannoneer depressing his piece every time, so as to strike the 
ground, and the ball, ricochetting, spent its force in the solid mass, killing 
or wounding two or three every time. The volunteers would obey orders to 
close u]), ])ul kept in scattered order, trusting to their rifles to repel the 
cavalry, running and firing on the gunners with the hope of disabling 
them, and hitting neither horses nor riders. The running fight was ke])t up 
for about three miles, to the slough boundary of the ranch. Then the gun 
stuck fast and the Americans came near capturing it. The Californians plied 
their spurs -and crouched to their horses' manes, while a shower of bullets 
whistled by them, ])ulled their gun out and loaded it with their last ball to 
await another attack; but Mervin had got enough. The day was very hot 
and it was still ten miles to town, with that gun firing at them with deadly 
aim every half mile; he ordered a retreat to the ranch. 

"They carried their killed and wounded back to the house, piled their 
ghastly load on one of the Dominguez carts, made an old Californian, who 
was in charge of the house, mount his horse and hitch his riata to the tongue 
to steer the craft while the sailors hauled it by hide ropes down to San 
Pedro, wlien they re-embarked." 

Manuel Dominguez married Maria Eugracia Cota, daughter of Don 
Guillermo Cota. commissioner under the Mexican Government in 1827. Ten 
children were born to this union ; eight daughters and tw^o sons. The names 
of the surviving daughters are Mrs. Victoria Carson, Mrs. John T. Francis, 
Mrs. Charles Guycr. Mrs. Gregoria Del Almo, Mrs. Dolores Watson, and 
Miss Dominguez. 



Xost "^oman of San ^^ic^olasHsland 



Mav, i8()6, by L. G. 



( Some extracts from an article in Oi'crlaiid Maiitlily 
Yates, of Santa Barbara.) 

A.\ NICHOLAS ISLAND, one of the grou]) of the Santa P.ar- 

l)ara Islands, is about nine miles in length and four in width; 

water is ])lentiful ; was formerly densely ijojndated, but now is 

a treeless waste — the result of fire and the pasturage of sheep. 

We learn by tradition that the .Alaska Indians, who were 

l)laccd upon this island to trade with tlic nati\'es, killed oft' the 

male inhabitants and took ])t)ssessi(>n. In 1835 the padres sent 

a vessel to remove the women and children. This was accom- 

])lished. with the exception of one woman, who jumi)ed into the surf and swam 

ashore to hunt for her cliild. who luid accidentally been left behind. 

The next we hear of the lone woman was in 1850. after a lai)se of fifteen 
years, when Captain Xidever, of Santa Barbara, visited the islands and 




104 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



discovered traces of recent habitation ; l)nt it was not until 1853 that the 
female Robinson Crusoe was found and removed to the mainland, where 
from the sudden and complete change of manner of living, she soon died. 
She had outlived her people and found no one able to converse with her in 
her almost forgotten language. It is supposed she was the last of her race; 
her clothing, made from skins, and needles of bone, were deposited in the 
Vatican, at Rome. 

But the incidents connected with her stay upon and removal from the 
island will soon be forgotten, although the refuse heaps of its former inhabi- 
tants will remain as evidence of a lost people. 

^^l^o can realize the utter and wretched loneliness of the poor creature, 
who spent eighteen years among the deserted homes of her ancestors, where 
the ground was whitened by their bleaching bones? 



016 Streets of Santa Barbara 

Woman's Club, Carpinteria, Cal. 

OURNAL OF ELECTRICITY. January, 1903, speaks of 
cjuaint Santa Barbara, renowned for its history, its missions, 
and its curiously named streets. For instance, a century or 
more ago one particular road out of the settlement became so 
muddy each winter that it became famous as a quagmire. It 
is a street now called "Salsipuedes," meaning, "Get out if you 
can!" Then there is "Canon Perdito street," where a cannon 
was mysterioush^ lost during General Fremont's time. And 
another, a lane in which a prosperous ranchero was robbed of $500 three 
generations ago, is now called "Ouinientos street." meaning "500 street." 




JPVom tl)e State (Tapital 

Kingsley Art Club. 

R. JOSEPH SIMS, who came to California in 1849 ^^^^ is now 
residing ten miles from Sacramento, related the following 
story : 

He drove to Sacramento one morning and as he was 
walking along Front street he noticed several coops of 
chickens. As eggs were only $6.00 per dozen and had quite 
a mineral taste, he asked the price of a dozen hens. He was 
told he could have eleven hens with an "escort" for $50.00. He 
paid the price and took the chickens home. His partners in business thought 
he had been very extravagant so would not enter into the new enterprise ; 
consequently when eggs began to appear they were found only at the plate 
of the owner of the eleven hens and "escort." unless paid for at the regular 
market price. His partners in business soon became tired of this arrangement 
and bought an interest in the chickens, which paid well until eggs went down 
to $1.00 per dozen, when the business was abandoned. 

105 




Historic Facts and Fancies 



Hnci6ent of tl)e Jfloo6 of '62 

A\nien the flood of 1862 came, the land on which Sutter's Fort now stands 
was the property of Mrs. Geo. Blue's mother, and as it was the highest point 
in Sacramento all who could came to this place of refuge. Mrs. Blue's brother 
was around in his rowboat rescuing all he could, when he heard a cry for 
help in the direction of M street. Hastening in the direction from which the 
sound of distress came, he saw in the attic window old Mammy Giles (a col- 
ored woman, who said many times that she had "help to born more native 
sons and daughters than any one in the State"). Her joy was unbounded 
as she called out, "Laws, Honey, Fse glad you's come, for I'd been drowned 
shure. as I always goes with my mouth open." 




iDiscover^ of TKun^ite 

San Diego Shakespeare Club. 

I^-<u'v r,i^BljX 1903. near Pala. San Diego county, the first discovery of 
'^f^^sSialM kunzite was made. Forth from their rough bed of decomposed 
granite the prospectors dragged the new crystals ; eagerly they 
waited while the lapidists developed their beauty and tested 
their quality ; proudly they claimed the glory when at last the 
new stones, cut and polished, glistening like diamonds and 
glowing with soft lilac tints, were sent forth to the gem ex- 
perts of the whole country as an absolutely new gem, the first 
discovered in fifteen years. The new stone immediately caused a marked 
interest. Kunzites are here found associated with tourmalines, which, while 
previously known to the world, were yet far superior to an}^ tourmaline here- 
tofore discovered. The enthusiasm grew, mining companies were formed, 
lapidaries were established and lapidists worked unceasingly to perfect all the 
known devices for securing the finest possible cutting of San Diego's jewels. 
It has been but four years since the first kunzite discovery, yet the 
wonderful kunzite has found a wholesome market in all parts of the world 
and peo])lc are becoming better acquainted daily with the beauty and variety 
of the gem. Besides exquisite kunzites and tourmalines, the latter occurring 
in red, blue, green, yellowish-green, pink, claret, black, brown, and a colorless 
variety, there are beautiful zircons in red, brown, cinnamon, amber, and 
golden yellow; beryls in blue, greenish blue, yellow and greenish yellow; 
topazes in blue, white, and yellow, the blue being especially rare and there- 
fore prized. In addition small quantities of sapphires, rubies, chrysolites, 
cairngorms, moonstones, and garnets are found. As yet diamonds have 
not been discovered, although miners entertain strong hopes of finding 
them as the mines go deeper, because they are generally found in company 
with others of the most precious gems, and because such gems as have been 
discovered have been of increased beauty and quality as the depth increased. 
However, San Diego has no cause to reproach nature, even if diamonds are 
never found, since she already stands foremost in America in the richness 
and variety of her gem deposits, and whatever others may claim, she can 
match the "king of gems," the diamond, with her "queen of gems," the 



kunzite. 



106 



Tfn6ian 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




Unbian 'Wat of 1856 

Woman's Club of Bakersfield. 




WILL make an attempt to roll the stone from the sepulcher of 
memory, and write a few of my early remembrances of Tulare 
Valley, which now includes Fresno, Kings, Tulare and Kern 
counties. You will, of course, bear in mind that at the period 
of which I write there was no settlement in what is now the 
valley of Kern, very little in Fresno or Kings, and Visalia 
was the only town between Stockton and Los Angeles. 

In the year 1852 a party of emigrants who had wended 
their weary way from the States east of the Missouri River across the plains 
to Salt Lake, where they arrived late in the year, concluded to enter Cali- 
fornia by what was known as the San Bernardino Trail, by way of AA'arner's 
Ranch, an oasis on the eastern edge of the Sierra Madre Mountains. 

This route was much longer than the northern one via the Humboldt 
and Carson River Desert, but possessed the advantage of being free from 
snow. Of course the final destination of the train was the mines, and in 
pursuance of that intention they followed the old Spanish trail through the 
Tejon Pass and entered the valley of the Tulares at that point. 

The Indian trails all followed the foothills from water to water, crossing 
Kern River at the mouth of the Cottonwood Creek at Rio Bravo, at which 
point the old Indian trail is plainly visible to this day; this was the horse 
trail. The wagons had to seek a crossing lower down on the river, through 
the center of the present oil fields. 

The cavalcade arrived at what they named the "Four Creek" country, 
or what is now known as the "Kaweah" River, so named after the tribe of 
Indians who inhabited its banks and who called themselves "Kaweah," 
which was easily corrupted into "Cow Ear" by the emigrants. The crossing- 
was about twelve miles above the present town of Visalia and was an ideal 
place to found a settlement — alternate openings of meadow land and oak 
timber sections — the ground was so level and so rich that it recjuired only to 
be tickled with a straw to. make it laugh with a harvest. 

Inhabited by an indolent and apparently friendly tribe of Indians, many 
of whom had been partly civilized at the missions on the coast, it is not 
surprising that the train of emigrants to which I refer should have concluded 
to abandon, temporarily, their plan of going to the mines farther north, and 
settle down at this lovely spot. 

At the time of which I speak there were from fifty to sixty thousand 
acres of oak timber land lying around them, extending to the west for at least 
thirty miles and ten or fifteen miles in width, and the Kaweah River spread 
into numerous channels, forming a natural system of irrigation for the land. 
In a very short time after the settlement was macfe, difficulties arose 
between the settlers and the Indians. The latter in view of the small force to 
which they would be opposed, concluded at one swoop to wipe out the 
settlement and get rid of such annoyance forever. 

They accordingly, with the utmost secrecy, made a descent upon the 
settlers and massacred every person in the camp. Some few of the settlers 
had gone to Fort Miller to purchase provisions and therefore escaped, for 
hearing of the tragedy they did not return. 



109 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



The last one to succumb was a man named Woods, who from the shelter 
of a log cabin stood them off as long as his ammunition held out, and it 
will never be known whether he surrendered or whether they captured him, 
but at any rate they tortured him in the most horrible manner, literally 
skinning him alixe. The writer has seen an Indian give an exhibition of 
the contortions assumed by him in his mortal agony. This episode wiped out 
the town of W'oodville. as it was named. 

The following year a party headed by one Nat \Tce was fitted out in the 
mining town of Alariposa by a sort of joint stock association (the late Gen. 
E. Freeman was a member), to go down to the "Four Creek" country, select 

a suitable location for a town and organize the county seat all of which 

they did. They elected one Robert Dill as sheriff, who became so elated 
with his elevation to oiifice that he tried to drink up all the whiskey that 
could be supplied by an ox team express from Stockton, and when the supply 
•ceased he ran off into the Kaweah swamp and died there. 

Nat Vice, who engineered the location of the town site and named it 
'"Vicealia"' (not "Visalia" as now spelled), was a typical all-round man. He 
was a preacher by profession, but could manipulate a horse or foot-race to 
perfection — deal monte for the Indians under the shade of a tree on the 
groimd on a blanket — take a turn at poker, or preach a sermon, with equal 
facility and grace. But Nat sighed for more worlds to conquer. He sold 
out his and his partner's interest in the town site and skipped for Los Angeles, 
which city was at that time a refuge for all renegades from justice from all 
parts of the northern portion of the State— no sheriff' caring to go so far to 
seek them or to run the risk of holding them if found. At any rate, Nat never 
returned, and as he was a man well advanced in years at that time, he must 
now be enjoying his eternal rest in the beautiful south land. Peace to his 
ashes ! 

In 1843 Elisha Packwood, a Kentuckian, emigrated to Oregon, following 
the Lewis and Clarke trail, where he remained until 1846. when he removed 
with his family to San Jose. California. L'pon the discovery of gold he went 
to the '"mines" where he was very successful. So in the winter of 1852 he 
returned to Kentucky, purchased several hundred head of first-class cattle 
and drove them 'across the plains. By reason of his experience he was able 
to avoid many of the misfortunes that befell the emigrants in the management 
of their stock and arrived safely. He immediately drove his cattle up to the 
"Four Creek" country and settled on the Tule River, at the point that is 
now known as Porterville. 

Llere he and his son made quite a settlement, with their families, em- 
ployees, and vaqueros. Their stock thrived well, and they used to drive their 
beef and many of their milk cows to San Jose, and it was not uncommon for 
such cows to bring $200 each. Later the families moved to San Jose where 
they lived in great elegance. 

In 1856, from some quarreling or misunderstanding with the Packwood 
settlement, the Indians broke out in rebellion — killed several of Packwood's 
men — burned the dwellings — drove oft' a large lot of the thoroughbred stock 
— and started into the mountains along Tule River. 

l^ierc they induced the Owens River Indians, who were a numerous 
and warlike tribe, to join them. It was their intention to attack all of the 
white settlements in the valley at once and wi])e them out, which, in view of 
their easy conquest at Tule River and the rich loot obtained, it looked to their 
untutored minds an easy task, as well as a highly profitable one. 

However, a party of settlers from Visalia, seventy in number, under a 

no 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



man named Orson Kirk Smith, immediately followed the trail of the Kaweahs 
up the Tule River and at the junction of the North Fork they found them in 
a very strong position. They had built a stone wall some five or six feet high, 
in the form of a crescent, the points curving in and joining the almost perpen- 
dicular walls of a canon on each side. Behind them was an almost impene- 
trable thicket of chaparral and scrub oak with the trails through it ambushed 
at short intervals. This was also fortified in the rear by an immense slide of 
large boulders from the mountainside, that contained caves and rooms where 
they had their provisions and families secure, as they thought. 

The Indians drove ofif the party of seventy, who made no attempt to dis- 
lodge them on account of lack of sufificient force, but camped at some distance 
away. This little band sent couriers into the valley and to Fort Miller. Two 
hundred men and twelve soldiers, with a gun and ammunition for it, were 
sent immediately. 

Sergeant Caddy, who lately died at his ranch near Fort Tejon, was 
sergeant of the company under command of a Lieutenant Livingstone. 

Our force was divided into two commands, one under Foster Demasters, 
and the other under W. J. Pointdexter. 

We left Visalia and entered the mountains through and up the Noqual 
Valley, and with the aid of saddle horses, men, and ropes, we "manhandled" 
that gun over some very steep mountains, and finally set our camp about 
half aniile from the Indian fort. The next morning we made a reconnoissance 
in force in order to draw out the enemy, and to form a plan of attack. They 
climbed their breastworks, reviled us in the vilest manner in Spanish with 
an occasional English expletive. We returned to camp without making an 
attack. Here our officers held a council of war to decide on how the final 
assault was to be made. 

The next morning as soon as we had breakfasted and had thrown a few 
shells into the fort, we marched up in front and between two horns of the 
crescent so that they had a cross-fire on us from the horns on each side. 

Several of our men were struck with the arrows — they had no guns — and 
arrows are very efifective at short range. 

Lieutenant Livingstone climbed up on an immense boulder as large as an 
ordinary house, so as to look over the wall. Although it was in the month of 
June, it was quite cold at night and early morning, therefore he had his mili- 
tary cloak over his uniform and they found him an easy target. We saw 
arrows strike him several times, but they could not penetrate the cloak, and 
being shot from an angle below they simply stuck in the cloak and flipped 
up and hung there. Finally one must have stung him, for he commenced to 
swear, and ordered his men to charge the breastwork. Upon this we all 
went in, and in about ten minutes the battle was over. 

Forty Indians were dead ; and how many were wounded we could not 
tell, as they escaped with the squaws and made their way up the canyon, 
following the bed of the river. 

We found a great quantity of dried beef made from Packwood's fine 
cattle — stores of pine nuts, acorns, grass seed, and grasshopper cheese. 
There was also the plunder they had stolen from the houses they burned, 
saddles, and such a store of Indian baskets as would today delight the heart 
of a connoisseur — all of which were condemned to the flames. 

Thus ended the Indian War of 1856. 

We followed them through the mountains for nearly two months after 
this, but no more were slain. All were later placed upon government reser- 
vations and have never since given any trouble. 

Ill 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



The men wlio participated in this, furnished their own horses, arms, 
and ecpiipnients. as well as commissary supplies, and never asked or re- 
ceived any remuneration for the services rendered. 

I ought to add that before we went to the mountains, we chopped down 
the large oak trees on the block immediately south of the site of the present 
Palace Hotel in \^isalia. built a cord wood fort within which we placed all 
the women and children, wagons, etc., that were in the \alley, and left a 
guard to take care of them. I doubt whether there are any of the ladies 
li\ing today who occupied that fort. The onh' person living who took part 
in this Indian battle is the writer of this article. 



Oel)ama (Tount^Tfridians 

Read 1)efc)re the Alaywood Woman's Club, Corning, I)eccml)cr 12. 1906. 

OUNTING from old San Antonie, grizzled, bent, half blind, to 
a wee papoose, a year old, there are but thirty-fi\-e full-blooded 
Indians left, at the present day in all of Tehama county west 
of the Sacramento. These are all of the Xomelacka tribe. 
There is but one old rancheria, at the western foot of the 
Paskenta Puttes, where are collected (|uite a cam]) of Indians, 

a few half-breeds and a handful of full-bloods; the balance of 

the Indians are scattered in various camps. 
Sixty years ago, four tribes ranged the western part of the county. The 
\\'ylackies on the north (Wy means north), a strong, rather superior tribe, 
whicbi occupied nearly all of western Shasta and part of Trinit\- counties, lap- 
l)ing over into Tehama nearly to Red Bank. 

The Xomelackas (No-me meaning west) ranged from near Red Pank on 
the north to south of Thomas Creek on the south, and from an eastern boundary 
somewhere about ten miles west of the river to the summit of the Coast Range 
Mountains. 

The Noiemucks were the Stony Creek Indians. They are all believed to be 
dead. The Pooiemucks lived about Tehama and along the Sacramento River; 
their territory may have extended across the river. While the other three tribes 
were friendly, the Pooiemucks were deadly enemies to them, and woe to the 
stray hunter or scout who chanced to be caught on their range. And yet these 
feudal tribes intermarried ! However, whenever either family essayed to visit 
the folks-in-law, they had to have a passport from the other reigning chief, and 
sometimes an escort of warriors for protection. If there is a remnant of the 
Pooiemucks left, they are not in this part of the country. Pooie means east — 
hence the tribal name. 

Indians and white people work together in field and on farm with no 
discrepancy in wages. Years ago, when there were more Indians as laborers 
and they were less civilized, white men and Indians were placed at separate 
tables for meals, but now the table manners of the average Indian are as correct 
as those of the average white laborer. A housewife seldom hesitates to place 
the Indian at the table with her family. \\'\i\\ much greater consistency could 
she draw the protecting line between her children and some of the white hired 
men. These Indians are cleaner in morals than some white men. A well-known 
citizen once said: "The honest side of a half-breed is the Indian half." I'sually 
they are to be trusted. 

112 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



They work to have their children educated and are about as anxious as 
other parents to keep their children in school, where the little Indians mingle 
freely with the white children. They are always tidy, and are as welcome to the 
country schools as are their fairer brothers. Some of them are bright in their 
studies, but, on the whole, they fall way below the white children in intelligence. 

Some tribes still make baskets, but not of the useful kind. The big funnel- 
shaped baskets in which they garnered their wildoats and acorns, the large rovind 
cooking baskets in which they made their soup, and the bottomless "ponnee"' 
baskets in which they pounded their seeds or acorns or their rabbits — "potkilli" — 
to a paste, are hardly to be found anywhere. They make baskets of odd shapes, 
sometimes decorated with beads or with crests of quail, or bright-colored 
feathers of the yellow-hammer, the oriole, and the woodpecker, but they are 
made only to sell. They have almost forgotten how to make arrow points. 
They do not make bows and arrows, Indian beads, nor "fenders"" nor any of 
their war paraphernalia. "Fenders" were a sort of covering for the body made 
of tough elk hide, and arrows seldom penetrated them. They were variously 
ornamented. They made a kind of bead, not at all pretty, of bone. It was a 
disc with a hole in it for stringing, about the size and shape of a copper cent. 
These beads were money — Indian money — and passed as currency among the 
tribes. 

Fifty years ago the Government set apart a very rich piece of foothill land, 
about twenty miles west of Corning, for a reservation — the Nomelacka Reserva- 
tion. They built, of sun-dried adobe bricks, a fort and barracks for soldiers, 
put in a millrace and a mill for grinding grain, and made other improvements 
supposed to benefit the Indians. Then the red men of the north, east, and south 
were "rounded up,"" and against their wills were brought to this reservation. 
Many escaped — and they were permitted to escape — after the counting was 
done. When the Government inspectors returned the next year to census the 
Indians, it is said the number was kept round and full by passing the Indians 
up through a gulch, as through a chute, single file, out into the open before the 
inspectors, and around back into the gulch again to be counted the second and 
third time ! 

Thus the officers drew supplies for all the Indians on and ofl:' the reserva- 
tion. Each Indian was government pensioner to the value of a certain number 
of shirts a year, a specified amount of flour and wheat, and a pair of armv 
blankets. But the Indian did not receive all of his shirts nor all of his wheat, 
and his blanket had been cut in two ! The officers had flour, wheat, bacon, 
shirts and blankets to sell to neighboring stockmen and their herders. In about 
seven years this reservation was abandoned and the Indians were moved, 
again, very much against their wishes, to Round Valley. And again very many 
were allowed to escape. The love of home is very strong in the blood of this 
child of nature, and so in two or three years a large part of the Indians were 
back in their old haunts again. When they leave the reservation the Govern- 
ment ceases to provide for them, but if the pinch of poverty hurts too much, if 
the discomforts of straitened circumstances are too great a price for the freedom 
he craves, he may return and Uncle Sam will receive him. will teach him how 
to work, will send him to school, clothe and feed him, and if he falls ill will 
provide doctors and medicine. 

But some of them do not wish to return. They are still human, if they 
are aborigines ; the same yearnings and desires exist in their bronze breasts 
that are under the skin of the white man. They prefer to sufi^er a little extra 
for the privilege of living, dying and being buried where their fathers lived and 
died and are buried. 

113 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



Their fraternal feeling is very .great. When one Indian is doing well 
and has a home and credit at the stores, the other Indians go to visit him; they 
take the children along and camp i>n his hearth-nig and are welcome until his 
stores and credit are consumed. 




Ol)e Cegen6 of ^n-o-^os 

From the I'olklore of the Klamath Indians. 

( Melcena lUirns Dennv, San Jose Young Women's Club. Reprinted by courtesy 

of Out WcsL) 

XE (lav. at the time when the Weasel An-o-hos was still a man, he 
])egan to think that he was tired of always staying in one place. 
So he told himself that he would start out to see the world. 

Accordingly, he put a lot of arrows in his quiver, took his 
bow. and started out. The adventures of the Weasel would make 
a fair-sized book, as books go nowadays. But here are a few of 
them, as recited in the simple way of the Indian story-teller: 

h^irst he walked and walked till he was out of his own coun- 
trv. Then he began to watch sharp. 

Prettv soon he saw a smoke. He walked up to it. and found a wigwam. 
Inside a man was sitting. 

"Where are you going?" asked the man. 
"Oh, I'm just going along this way." 
"You'll get killed," warned the man. 
"How? Wdio will kill me?" 

Then the Indian told him of an old man who made lumber. No one was 
ever known to get by him. He caught people in the crack in the log his wedge 
made, and that was the last ever seen of his victims. 

"Don't go that way. Come in and rest a while before you go back." urged 
his informer. 

But the Weasel left the wigwam and went on toward the place where the 
old man made his lumber. Soon he came to a rat's house. He tore down the 
house, caught the rat, put it into his quiver with his arrows, and started on. 
Pretty soon he saw the old man making lumber. He stopped to watch. 
"Come, see how I do it," said the lumberman affably. 
So the Weasel drew near and watched him. 

This is the way the old man made lumber. He selected a fine, straight log, 
drove in his wedge, and hammered it down with his stone hammer until the 
log split. Then he put in the wedge again, always splitting from the middle, 
till he had reduced the log to boards. 

While the Weasel was watching, the old lumber-maker suddenly seized him 
and threw him into the yawning crack. Now the Weasel was ready for this, 
and leaped clear through. But he left his rat in the crack. 

The lumber-maker pulled out the wedge and went dancing for joy. He 
put his head under the log and saw a drop of blood oozing out, and then he 
went dancing the more. 

"I kill everybody. I kill all the ])eople ! There will be no one left alive!" 
he sang, dancing and clapping his hands. Suddenly he turned around. There 
stood the Weasel. 

114 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



"What are you making all this joy about?" asked the Weasel. 

"Oh," whined the lumber-maker, "I was dancing for sadness! I thought 
another man had fallen into my crack." 

"Well," said the Weasel, taking the wedge, "I did fall in, but I fell clear 
through. You see if you can do as well." 

"I don't want to. I am too old !" begged the lumber-maker. 

"An old man ought to know how. Get ready now!" 

"Oh, 1 am too old !" whimpered the old man, holding back. But the Weasel 
took hold of him and threw him in, and then pulled out the wedge. He looked 
all about and underneath. There was not even a single drop of blood, the 
lumber-maker was so dried up. Pretty soon, though, he heard a little voice in 
the log singing, "I like to stay here !" 

"Yes, you stay there," said the Weasel. "You be that kind!" And he 
changed him into the white, flat-headed larva that the Indians call Oup-am-owan, 
the wood-eater. "Always be white and old, and always have the flat head, 
mashed between the logs. No one need fear you any more !" 

So the wood-eater the old man has been ever since, and one can still find 
him, creeping about in the heart of rotten logs. 

Wlien An-o-hos, the Weasel, had killed the old man, he went on farther 
into the new country. Soon he saw another smoke and another wigwam. He 
stopped, and inside were sitting three people. 

"Come in," they said, hospitably. "Where are you going?" 

"Oh, I'm just going along this way to see the new country." 

"Don't go that way. You'll get killed." 

"Who will kill me?" 

So they told the Weasel of a family of bad people that lived further along, 
who always sent their guests to fish, with spears that had pitch on the handles, 
so that when they speared the fish they couldn't let loose of the handle, and the 
fish always pulled them in and drowned them. 

"Rest a while before you go back again." they concluded, "for you surely 
will not go on. No one has ever escaped the fish." 

But the Weasel went on, and soon he came to the house where the bad 
people lived. They were very glad to see him, and asked him to come in. He 
went in and talked till it was time to eat. Then they asked him to go down to 
the stream and spear a fish. 

"The spears are outside' the door." they said. 

Now the Weasel took dirt and put it on the handle of the spear so it wouldn't 
stick, and went down to spear a fish. Soon he saw a great fish in the water. He 
speared before he saw that it was no fish, but a long sea serpent. The fish- 
snake swam with the spear in his side, and An-o-hos pulled, and pulled and 
pulled and pulled, and at last he pulled the serpent up on the bank dead. He 
had never seen so huge or horrible a creature. It was too great a monster to 
drag the whole body to the wigwam, so the Weasel cut ofif a small piece and 
carried it back. 

"Here is the fish," he said, laying it down. 

No one said a word. 

"I brought you some fish to cook," he repeated. 

No one said a word. 

So An-o-hos made ready to cook it himself. He got a basket, laid the fish 
in it with water, then built a fire and heated stones. All this time no one said 
a word. 

He lifted a stone and carried it to the basket. 

"Don't cook it," said some one in a voice of fear. 

115 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



But he (lro])ped the stone in. and ihc water began to boil. He dropped 
other stones in, and the water l)oiled and boiled, and a great cloud of steam 
arose, white and big, and all the people disappeared, for the fish was magical. 
An-o-hos ran to the door and s])rang outside just as the wigwam started to 
rise. It rose uj) with the steam, higher and higher, alcove the tree tops, above 
the mountains, looking like a tent-shaped cloud, and he watched it disap])ear at 
last in the highest point of the sky. 

Pretty soon he felt something crawling under his feet. It was the bad 
people, who had escaped the steam of the fish by burrowing in the ground. 
They were trying to crawl out. but An-o-hos stamped on their heads. 

"You be that kind," said An-o-hos. "Live under the ground. Xo need to 
talk fish to trick your guests. No need to put pitch on spears." .">(» he changed 
them all to .\ch-a-las, the go])hers, and they have dwelt under ground ever 
since. 

When An-o-hos had changed all those l)ad people to gophers, he went on. He 
walked and walked and walked, h^inally he saw another smoke. There was 
another house. He stopped at the door and saw two old peoi)le. 

"Where are you going?" they asked. 

"Oh. I am just going along this way," he replied. 

They shook their heads. 

"Better come in. Better go no farther. You will get killed." 

"Who will kill me?" 

So they told him of a bad old man who had a swing, and every one that 
passed his way he swung up into the sky. But the Weasel would not stay. He 
went on into the strange country. He went and went and went, and he came 
to another rat's house. He tore down the house as before, and caught the rat. 
and put him into his quiver. Then he journeyed on. 

At last he saw the old man with his swing. An Indian swing is a see-saw, 
and this swing had the long arm extending over the lake. 

"Oh. I am glad to see you." called the man. "I have been waiting for 
a long time for some one to swing with." 

The W^easel came up, and the old man tokl him to take the long end and 
he would give him a fine swing. An-o-hos saw how it extended over the 
water, so he went out a little way. let the rat loose, and came back himself on 
the under side of the board. The old man's eyes were bad. and he looked and 
looked, and the rat looked so small he was sure it was An-o-hos away out at 
the end of the swing. 

So he pushed down, and went up. and pushed down, and went u]). and then 
pushed down with all his force, and the rat fell oiif into the water. 

The old man began to dance and caper for joy. 

"Oh, he's dead at last!" he sang. "I've waited for this W^easel man, 
An-o-hos. He killed all my people all along the w-ay. and he came to kill me. 
But he's drowned, he's drowned ! He's drowned in the lake !" 1 le wheeled 
about. There stood An-o-hos. 

"What do you make all this joy about?" said the Weasel. 

'"Oh, I'm so glad you are back to get another swing." 

"All right. W'e'll swing again. You get on the long end." 

"Oh, I'll swing on this end again. That one goes farther. I'll swing you 
fine this time." 

"You go out." said .\n-o-hos, ])ushing him on to the board, "(io awav out 
to the end." 

"Oh, I can't," whimpered the old man. "I can't see to walk the board!" 

"Go on !" commanded the Weasel. 

ii6 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



So the old man had to crawl clear out to the end that extended over the 
lake. 

The Weasel pushed down, and went up, and pushed down, and went up, 
and then he pushed down with all his might. The old man flew high into the 
sky. He rose up through the clouds, beyond the clouds, on and on. 

Nothing ever dropped. 

The Weasel watched and watched. 

After a while he heard a voice far up in the sky singing. 

"Now-wood-adow ! Cod-a-danima !" 

"I like to stay here! I see everything!" 

'*Yes, you stay there," said the Weasel. "You see everything. You swing 
up, and swing down, and see people you would like to kill, and can't kill. You 
swing and swing and swing, all alone. You be that kind. You be the sun !" 

So he changed the old man to the sun. And there he is, high up in the 
heavens yet, always swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging, up in the morning 
and down at night. 

When An-o-hos had changed the old man into the sun, he went journeying 
on, farther and farther into the strange country. He had many other adventures 
that the Indians could tell about, but this is the one that ended them. 

He had come at last into the land of the sunrise, where everything was more 
beautiful than in all the rest of the world. There were mountains about, and in 
their midst a meadow of smooth green grass, fresh and moist. And in the 
midst of the meadow were seven girls, watching him. 

They were beautiful girls, with long hair that floated, and bright eyes that 
sparkled, and beautiful skirts of fringe tipped with shells that said, "Sh! Sh !" in 
a singing voice when they moved. They stood there, hand in hand, waiting for 
him. 

"Where are you going? " they asked. 

"Oh, I was just going along this way," he answered, "to see the new 
country." 

"There is no more new country," they replied. 

"All right," agreed the Weasel readily enough. 

"But you'll have to do what we do." 

"What is that?" 

"Oh, we dance. We dance clear across the land and the ocean, all in one 
night." 

"I can dance," said the Weasel, eagerly. 

"But we dance in the sky." 

"I can dance in the sky." 

So they parted hands and took him into their circle. Then they began to 
dance and sing. This is what they sang: 



"Better go with us. 
"I'll "o with vou." 



^ 



^.Jb^ 



± 



^^ 



m 



Ho win-a. Ho wan-o ! Ho-win-a, Ho-wan-o ! 

So they danced and danced, high in the air, they were so nimble, and for 
a long time the Weasel danced as happily as they. But after a few hours he 
began to grow tired. 

"Let me rest a minute," he said. 



117 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



"We can't rest here," they answered, dancino; on. 

"Only a minute." he bef^^g^ed. lUit they only sang- and danced. 

He tried to dance with them a little longer, but his feet hung and would 
not keep time, so they had to clutch him beneath the arms. On and on they 
danced, just as nimbly, just as ha])])ily. with the shelled fringe of their skirts 
making soft music, and their bright eyes shining. The Weasel could keep up 
no longer. 

"Take me down." he ])leaded. "We will soon be to the ocean !" 

"We can't leave our path," they sang. "W'e must cross the ocean tonight!" 
And they went on singing their sweet, high song. 

"Then drop me." said the Weasel, unable to lift a foot. 

They didn't even pause in their singing, nor did their airy dance miss a 
measure. But they dropped him. 

Down, down, he fell, growing smaller and smaller, smaller and smaller, 
till he was no longer a man at all. but a weasel. If you want to know how he 
looked when he struck the earth, just find him in the woods today if you can. 
He has looked the same ever since, and he has hidden ever since, for shame of 
his appearance. Sometimes he looks up and sees the girls that he danced with. 
But they are not real girls. They are the seven stars we call the Pleiades. 
Any night you can see their eyes, but they dance too far up in the sky for us 
to hear their song, or to catch the soft "Sh! Sh !" of the fringe of shells on their 
floating skirts. 




Arranged from the Historical and Dcsci-ipfiz'c' Sketch Book of Xapa, Sonoma, 
Lake and Mendocino Comities by C. A. Menefee, Jl'ritten i8j^. 

Napa Club. 

E Indians inhabiting the region now known as Napa county did 
not differ essentially from the other tribes — those found in south- 
ern and middle California. They presented the same physical 
characteristics, habits and customs. They were generally of 
small stature, broad shouldered, and possessed of great strength. 
They were of swarthy complexion, beardless, and had long, 
coarse, straight hair. The shape of their heads indicated a low 
rank in the intellectual scale and a predominance of all the pro- 
pensities oi the brute creation. Indeed, they seemed to be rather an indeterminate 
race or connecting link between man and the brute, scarcely superior to the higher 
types of the latter, and only in a few points resembling the lowest class of the 
former. Some exce]:)tions existed, but as a race they were inferior to all the 
aboriginal tribes of this continent. 

It is exceedingly difficult at this time to give an accurate account of these 
tribes. Their numbers were never exactly known, their habits being migratory, 
and their camps seldom permanent for any great length of time. It is not 
probable that the Indians knew their own number, or that they cared to know, 
and their rapid disappearance has left very few of whom even to make inquiry 
and perhaps none who could give any definite information. We are therefore 
necessarily left to the alternative of estimating their numbers from the statements 
of early settlers and others who visited California at an early day. 

ii8 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



Kit Carson says that in 1829 the valleys of California were full of Indians. 
He saw many large and flourishing tribes that then existed. When he again 
visited the State, in 1859, they had mostly disappeared and the people who 
resided in the localities where he had seen them declared that they had no knowl- 
edge of them whatever. They had disappeared and left no record of the cause 
which had led to their extermination. 

Down to 1856 they thronged the streets of Napa City in great numbers, 
especially on Sundays, picking up odds and ends of cast-off clothing, occasionally 
fighting, and always getting drunk if the means were procurable. Male and 
female, they encumbered the sidewalks, lounging or sleeping in the sun, half-clad 
and squalid — pictures of humanity in its lowest state of degradation. I was told 
this story by one of our members : Her mother was greatly annoyed by these 
Indians lying in front of her doorway. She was living in the German House, 
where Gifford's store is now. And one day, while her husband was away, she 
decided to get rid of these Indians, so she filled everything in the house that would 
hold water and placed them at the front door. Then she began throwing the 
water on the Indians, who, of course, were greatly enraged and tried to kill her, 
and not until she had picked up her last pailful of water was she able to drive 
them away. The water-cure proved successful, for the Indians never bothered 
her again. 

George C. Yount, the first white settler in Napa Valley (who arrived here 
in 1831 ), said that, in round numbers, there were from 10,000 to 12,000 Indians 
between Napa and Clear Lake. Of this number, he says there were at least 3,000 
in Napa county, and perhaps twice that number. 

At the time of Mr. Yount's arrival there were six tribes of Indians here, 
speaking different though cognate dialects, and almost constantly at war with 
each other. 

The Mayacomas tribe dwelt near the Hot Springs, now Calistoga, and the 
Callajomanas on the lands now known as the Bale Rancho, near St. Helena. The 
Caymus tribe dwelt upon the Yount grant, to which they gave their name. The 
Napa Indians occupied the Mexican grant of Entre Napa, that is, the lands 
between Napa River and Napa Creek. The word "Napa" is said to signify 
"fish." The authority for this signification rests on the declaration of old 
pioneers, and is corroborated by the fact that in the cognate languages of the 
tribes on the northern coast, the word still bears the same signification. At least 
we have the information from, one who was among the Gold Bluff adventurers, 
and who made a fish trade with an Indian, selling his shirt from his back 
in exchange for a salmon. Doubtless the Indian word for fish must have been 
strongly impressed upon his memory by such a transaction. The Ulucas dwelt 
on the east side of Napa River, near Napa City, and one of their words survives 
in the word Tulocay Ranch and Cemetery. 

All these Indians were, in fact, as in name, "Diggers." A considerable portion 
of their food consisted of wild edible roots, among which was the "amole" or 
soap-root. They could dig small animals out of their burrows, and when hard 
pressed would eat almost anything that had life, even to earth worms. Of fish 
they had at most seasons an abundant supply. Grasshoppers were one of their 
favorite "dishes." They also made a kind of bread sometimes from acorns, with 
which the valley abounded, sometimes of pine-nuts, and at others from the 
crushed kernels of the buckeye, washed to eliminate their bitter and noxious 
qualities. 

Incredible as it may seem, and loathsome even to think of, it is well authen- 
ticated that they carefully gathered certain large fat and reddish spotted worms, 
found at some seasons of the year upon the stalks of grasses and wild oats, and 

119 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



used them as shortening for their bread. The statement is made on the authority 
of a pioneer of unquestionable veracitv. who was with a i)arty of Inchans and 
who. seeing one of tlieni gathering every worm lie met with and ])utting it in a 
pouch at his side. in(|uired what use was to be made of them, ide iiad been eating 
their bread, but it is hardly necessary to add that the stomach of even an old 
trapper revolted from that hour against Indian cookery. 

Of the building of permanent and comfortable habitations they had no 
knowledge. They constructed for themselves, in the rainy season, rude shelters 
with the boughs of trees, by no means impervious to the rain and wind, and 
which, architecturally considered, were far inferior to the hut of the bear, or 
the lairs of the lower animals. In the summer they encamped among the willows 
along the streams, or in the first thicket that promised even the semblance of pro- 
tection from the elements. They deemed it unhealthy to sleej) in a house, and 
indeed for them it probably was so. At least, when years afterwards, young 
Indians, male and female, were either captured or kidnapped and made use of 
by w'hite settlers as servants or slaves, as they were for several years, they seldom 
lived more than two years, being generally carried off by pulmonary diseases. 

Before the period of the occupation of the country by the Americans, the 
Mexicans tilled but a small portion of the soil, their chief pursuit being stock 
raising. Immense herds of cattle roamed over the country, and many of the 
Indians, either by stealth or by trifling labor for the owners of grants, could 
obtain a sui)])ly of beef and corn and beans to eke out a precarious support. The 
sudden inllux of an American population put an end to this condition of things. 
The wild cattle gradually disappeared ; game grew shy and scarce. The holders 
of land grants were encroached upon by "squatters," wdio appropriated the soil 
without ceremony, so that they had no longer any use for the services of the 
Indians, and no motive, even if they had the power, for supplying their wants 
except in rare instances. The valleys were fenced and cultivated, and the right 
of private domain asserted and enforced on the banks of streams, where the 
Diggers had fished from time immemorial. It becaiue more and more difficult for 
the comparative few that remained to subsist under the new regime, so unexpect- 
edly and so inexorably established. 

It does not appear difficult to account for the rajiid decrease in the number 
of these savages. \\> have already stated that the different tribes were almost 
continually at war. r>esides this, the cholera broke out among them in the fall 
of 1833. and raged with terrible violence. So great was the mortality they were 
unable either to bury or burn their dead. 

It must be confessed that to all the causes wdiich we have assigned for the 
rapid disappearance of the Indians in this valley, as elsewhere, we must add 
another, not creditable to civilization. The early Mexican settlers were not very 
charv of the lives of the Indians, and their American successors have not infre- 
quently followed their exam])le. \Miile the Indians were yet comparatively 
numerous, their means of subsistence at some seasons of the year must have been 
very scant and precarious. The grant holders had abundance. Their cattle 
swarmed by tens of thousands over the country and off'ered a constant teiuptation 
to the hungry Diggers. Theft was easy and detection difficult. The settlers were 
annoyed by repeated losses. It was impossible to trace the offense to individuals. 
They only knew in general that the Indians had stolen their cattle, and. when 
possible, meted out to them cruel and indiscriminate punishment. 

The concurrent effects of savage warfare, i)estilence and such wholesale 
massacres seem quite sufficient to account for the rapid decline of numbers among 
the Indians long before the con(|uest. 

In the excellent work of Mr. Cronice, entitled "The National Wealth of 

120 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



California."" the influence of the Mission system is stated to be one of the causes 
of the degradation and consequent final extermination of the aboriginal inhabi- 
tants. The writer says: "There is no room to doubt that the degradation of the 
existing- race is in some degree the result of the Mission system, which deprived 
them of the instincts that nature had implanted and left them no dependence but 
upon the will of the Fathers, which was impotent to save them from extermina- 
tion by the irresistible force of a higher civilization in which they were unfitted 
to participate." • 

Their knowledge of the proper treatment of disease was on a level with their 
attainments in all the arts of life. Roots and herbs were sometimes used as 
remedies, but the "sweat-house" was the principal reliance in desperate cases. 
Tliis great sanitary institution, found in every rancheria, was a large circular 
excavation, covered with a roof of boughs, plastered with mud, having a hole on 
one side for entrance and another in the roof to serve as a chimney. A fire having 
been lighted in the center, the sick were placed there to undergo a sweat bath for 
many hours, to be succeeded by a plunge in cold water. This treatment was their 
cure-all, and whether it killed or relieved the patient depended upon the nature 
of his disease and the vigor of his constitution. 

The sweat-house also served as a council chamber and banquet hall. In it 
the bodies of the dead were sometimes burned, amid the bowlings of the sur- 
vivors. Generally, however, the cremation of the dead took place in the open air. 
The body, before burning, was bound closely together, the legs and arms folded, 
and forced by binding into as small a compass as possible. It was then placed 
upon a funeral pile of wood, which was set on fire by the mother, wife, or some 
near relative of the deceased, and the mourners, with their faces daubed with 
pitch, set up a fearful howling and weeping, accompanied with the most frantic 
gesticulations. The body being consumed, the ashes were carefully collected. 

A portion of these were mingled with pitch, with which they daubed their 
faces and went into mourning. During the process of cremation the friends and 
relatives thrust sharp sticks into the burning corpse and cast into the fire the orna- 
ments, feathered head-dresses, weapons and everything known to have belonged 
to the departed. They had a superstitious dread of the consequences of keeping 
back any article pertaining to the defunct. An old Indian woman, whose husband 
was sicic, was recently asked what ailed him. Her reply was that he had kept 
some feathers belonging to a dead Indian that should have been burned with his 
body and that he would be sick till he died. 

The idea of a future .state was universal among the California Indians, and 
they had a vague idea of rewards and punishments. As one expressed it, "Good 
Indians go big hill, bad Indians go bad place." Others thought if the deceased 
had been good in his life time his spirit would travel west to where the earth and 
sky met and become a star, if bad he would be changed into a grizzly, or his spirit 
wanderings would be continued for an indefinite period. 

It does not appear that under the Mission system they made the slightest 
advance in moral or religious culture, in spite of the most zealous efforts of the 
Fathers. Thev were taught to go through the forms of Christian worship, and 
did so, but without the least comprehension of their significance. Heathen they 
were from the beginning, and heathen they will remain to the end. 



121 




Historic Facts and Fancies 

^rue Stories of pioneer an63n6ianTLife in 

C3el)ama (TountY 

Maywood Club. 

GREAT deal of time would be recjuircd to jjixe much of a his- 
tory of the early days of this county or the immediate vicinity. 
The peaceful and happy conditions that now exist would lead 
us to believe that such conditions have always been much the 
same, but I will repeat what actually took place in the early 
fifties, as related to me b}' one who has lons:^ lived in this neigh- 
borhood. 

Thomes, ]\Ioon, Chard and Toomes were among the few 
hardy pioneers, all of them owning large tracts of land by grant, engaged in 
stock raising. They were annoyed greatly by the Indians, wdio often stole 
cattle and horses, sometimes in bands of fifty head or more. These four men 
joined together and hired three gun men, so-called because of their proficiency 
in marksmanship. Their names were Henry Luttman. James Benton and John 
Breckinridge, and they were paid one hundred and twenty-five dollars each per 
month and furnished supplies. 

The mountain Indians, coming to the valley to steal stock, always traveled 
alone, coming from different directions and meeting at some place previously 
agreed upon. The gun men hiding, each in a different locality, would pick them 
off with their rifies. and scores lost their lives in this way and no questions asked. 
One incident in the experience of John Breckinridge about this time, 1852, 
may be mentioned. As he was returning to his post from the Moon Hotel (which 
still stands about a mile southeast of the ferry, near Corning), where he had gone 
for supplies, he came. upon a freshly slaughtered horse. A couple of spears and 
bows and arrows betrayed the character of the perpetrators. Seeing that a part 
of the carcass had been carried away, he rightly reasoned that the depredators had 
gone with the flesh to meet other comrades, who would pass the supply along, 
and they would soon return. He hid both himself and his horse in the willows 
near by and soon had the satisfaction of seeing two Indians stealing back for more 
of their plunder. Riding swiftly between them and their arms, he gave battle, 
killing one with his butcher knife and taking the other a prisoner. He delivered 
him to a band of valley Indians camped near by, they in turn put him on an old 
mule, took him to the scene of the theft, put one end of a rope around his neck, 
threw the other over the limb of an oak tree, pulled it taut, tied it, and then led 
the mule away, returning to camp. 

Such was the cruelty and hatred of the valley Indians toward the mountain 
Indians in those early days. The oak tree still stands, not far from the lloag 
house, two miles southeast of Corning, where this took place. 

One more incident, selected from quite a number, may help us to appreciate 
the existing condition of those stirring times of early days. Granville P. Swift, 
a captain in the Bear Flag war, located on a tract of land near Orland, now known 
as the Greenwood farm. He built an adobe hut in 1840, which is still standing. 

He engaged quite extensively in stock raising, but in 1853 he varied his 
interests by putting in quite an acreage of barley. Harvest time came, and as 
there were no harvesting machines in the country, he was ])uzzled as to how he 
would gather in his crop. 

He adopted the following plan : He went to the mountains and brought down 



122 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



a band of Indians, by force, and made them cut the crop with butcher knives and 
hand scythes and also build a round corral. This was filled with the 
barley straw. They then turned in a bunch of horses, as many as the corral would 
admit, driving them round and round until the barley was separated from the 
straw. It was then removed and fresh, unthreshed straw filled in again, and the 
same process repeated until the whole crop was threshed. The barley was then 
cleaned by the Indians filling baskets, holding them up as high as they could, 
spilling it out and allowing the wind to blow the chaff away. 

A good idea of the immense crop thus forcibly garnered may be more readily 
comprehended when it is known that Mr. Swift sacked about thirteen thousand 
bushels of number-one barley that year. 

Mr. \\>ston of our town purchased his seed of Mr. Swift for planting his 
1854 crop. 



:Aiiot of 60I6 



From Maywood Club, Corning. 

Note. — The same old hotel, "Moon House," is mentioned in the preceding article. — F. O. B. 

HE story goes that in the late 50's or early 6o's a miner 
from the Shasta diggings, en route to Sacramento, stopped 
at the old Moon House, which, in those days was a way- 
side inn. There, while awaiting some sort of a south- 
bound conveyance, he was stricken with fever and for weeks 
during alternating periods of delirium and consciousness, he 
fought an almost lone hand with the consuming disease, but 
at last the taper burned out. During a moment of consciousness 
preceding death, he told by feeble words and signs that before arriving at the 
Moon House he had buried, near an old oak tree to the north of the place, a pot of 
gold nuggets which he thought were worth about $45,000. There are now people 
in the community — then young men and boys — so positive that the pot of gold is 
an undiscovered quantity that, though nearly forty years have passed, they may 
be seen from time to time during idle days upturning the earth about the old 
oak trees. The pot of gold has not been found so far as any one knows, and so 
doubtless awaits some lucky finder in the days to come. 





123 



Historic Facts a 7t d Fancies 



Sebastian 



\\'i)man"s Club, Bakersfiekl. 




X the (lays before the advent of the present American, when the 
pach-es held sway from San Francisco to San Diego, and Spain 
was in the height of her glory an Indian boy was born. 

between the Mission Indians, including the San Gabriels, 
the Seranos. the Camulos, the X'enturenos and others, and the 
Desert Indians, among whom w^re the ^Mojaves. and the tribes 
l\ing east of the Sierra Nevadas, a bitter enmity existed. 

During one of the raids made by the X'enturas on the 
Mojaves. in which the latter were severely punished, the Mojaves and Carenos 
retaliated by waging war on a band of Seranos. The Seranos occupied that 
portion of the San Gabriel Valley where San Bernardino now stands. 

This battle between the tribes just mentioned, in which the Seranos were 
defeated, was fouglit east of the present city of San Bernardino. All the braves 
taking part in the battle were either killed during the fight or tnrtured to death 
afterward by their captors. 

\\'ith the brutality and ferocity inherent in the Indian character, all the 
women were tortured with the men. except some ten or twelve of the }Oung girls. 
even the expectant mothers being most horribly mutilated. 

One of the older women was spared by the command of the chief, from the 
fact that her husband was kin to the chief, and, she. with the ten (ir twelve young 
girls, were taken prisoners to the stronghold of the .Mojaves on the Colorado 
River. 

On the princii)le that a dead Indian boy prevents the growth of a live Indian 
warrior, they massacred all the boys they saw. 

Owing to a mother's love, one little boy escaped. So small, that by holding 
him beween her knees, crouching over him and hiding his head in her bosom while 
she nursed him to still his cries, Sebastian was saved. 

Following the tiresome march to the Colorado came years of weary waiting' 
ere the Seranos returned to their homes. 

Foot-sore and travel-stained, the remnants of the tribe, after their escape, 
returned to the land of their fathers, where today a handful of them survive and 
eke out an existence on the rocky mountainside of San Miguel Reservation, 
under the shadow of Old Baldy. a few miles from the town of Highland. 

Sebastian was then ten or twelve years old and went to live at the .San Gabriel 
Mission, where he was educated and taught to speak the Spanish tongue. 

As he grew to manhood he went from tribe to tribe, where he was always 
a wefcome guest. His wanderings had made him familiar with the menuitain 
passes of the Coast Range, Sierra Madres and Tehachapi Ranges, and becoming 
attracted by the wonderful natural advantages of climate, water, game and seed 
foods which the mountains and valleys of the Kern presented, he and others of 
his tribe, with other tribes, finally came to the neighborhood of Fort Tejon. 

He was especially friendly with the tribes along Caliente Creek. It was 
while he was at I*"ort Teji'm that his knowledge of the mountain ])asses enabled 
.Sebastian to serve as guide to General l'"remont on his entrv into the San joacjuin 
X'alley. 



124 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



When Fremont and his part}' reached what was then called the Rio Bravo, 
since called the Kern River, they found a raging- torrent across which it was 
impossible to convey anything without the aid of boats. 

Fremont needed the tule boats of the friendly Indians on the opposite side 
of the river to ferry his party across, but could not secure these boats unless some 
one swam the river. His own men, fearing the dangers of the mad water, would 
not venture, but some Indians who knew of Sebastian's prowess, brought him to 
Fremont, and Sebastian understanding Fremont's need, volunteered to swim the 
river. 

Then arose cries of fear and expostulation. ''Sebastian ! don't go ! You'll 
drown!" "Sebastian! Aren't you afraid? " "Sebastian! the river is very fierce. 
You'll be hurt on the rocks !" "Be careful, Sebastian !" 

But Sebastian, never heeding their words, proceeded to take off his clothes. 
with the exception of a cloth about the loins. Folding his clothes as compactly 
as possible and binding them securely on his head he scornfully replied: "I am 
not afraid. Why should I be? Wasn't I raised near the Colorado River? Didn't 
I swim in the Colorado when I was a boy? Of course, I am not afraid. I can 
swim across," and plunging into the river with the ringing cheers, hurrahs and 
"Bravo ! " "Bravo ! " of the assembled men encouraging him, he began the perilous 
journey. 

Buft'eted by the swift raging torrent of the Rio Bravo, now carried down by 
the strong current, w^orking his way back up the stream, again and again carried 
among the immense rocks that filled that part of the stream, but ever struggling 
onward toward his goal, the opposite shore of the river, and ever cheered on 
by the loud "Bravos" of Fremont's men for whose succor he was making the 
perilous trip, what a proud moment it must have been for Sebastian when he 
triumphantly stepped out upon the opposite bank and proved to the white men 
that the Indian was not a coward. 

Having secured the aid of the friendly Indians, Sebastian made his way 
back, accompanied by some of these Indians with their tule boats in which to 
ferry Fremont and his party across the river. 

The white men were afraid to trust themselves with the Indians in the frail 
laiichas dc tuJc, poled by an Indian, fearing that they would be dashed to pieces 
on the rocks in the swift and treacherous waters of Kern River. And who of us 
today would be willing to trust ourselves to its angry waters as we have seen it 
pouring itself out from its mountain home before spreading itself out over the 
peaceful valley below making it "to blossom like the rose." 

The Indians, understanding the looks on the men's faces and hearing their 
expressions of fear, asked Fremont for a rope. Having obtained the rope they 
made it fast on the river's bank, and crossing the seething torrent, carrying the 
rope with them, they secured the free end of the rope on the opposite bank and 
then returned to Fremont and his party, who now, embarking in the frail launches, 
each poled by an Indian and guided by the rope, soon found themselves safely 
landed across Kern River, whence they proceeded on their way to Sacramento 
and the north. 

Just how long Fremont's party remained in the vicinity of Fort Tejon at 
this particular time it is impossible to tell, although Sebastian mentions Alexander 
Godey, one of Fremont's guides, as if he knew him well. 

Tall and wearing his hair to his shoulders, Sebastian must have presented a 
picturesque appearance to any spectator of that time. 

This little sketch cannot be concluded without giving honor to whom honor 
is due. 

125 



Historic Facts and Fancies 

^Trs. Roseniyre. from whom the above facts were obtained, is the step- 
daughter of Sebastian, and her mother and her aunt have recounted to her the 
miseries of the ill-fated Seranos and San Gabriels. 

In all of Sebastian's dealings with the Americans, General Bcale is the only 
one who was good to him. 

General Fremont did not give Sebastian even so small a thing as a cigar 
for the timely succor at a critical period in Fremont's career. 

Through General Beale's generosity. Sebastian's last days were passed in 
comfort, and he was buried at the general's expense. Sebastian's death occurred 
in 1901. He had been blind for some years prior to his death, and was cared 
for by an Indian family at Tejon. As his life had been, so was his death — 
fearless to the last. 

He knew his end was near, and said to the Indian woman who was caring 
for him: "It is cold. Vou arc tired out with care of me. 1 shall go before 
morning. You go tc^ rest now. I am not afraid. In the morning you will find 
I have departed." So it was, and Sebastian had gone to join his fathers. 

Even yet there are a few of the Seranos and San Gabriels wdio are pen- 
sioners on (jeneral Beale's bounty. So old are they that the past can be but a 
memory and life merely passed in eating and sleeping. 

No more for them shall sound the exulting cry of X'ictory, nor the defiant 
cry of Death. 

It is well for them that the sunset of their lives is peaceful through the 
thoughtfulness of General Beale. 




Woman's Club, Bakersfield. 

( )R many years after the arrival of the whites, the Indians in 
Tulare \^alley clung to their primitive habits. They lived around 
the three lakes, Tulare, Buena Vista, and Kern. These lakes 
extended a hundred miles north and south, and were well 
stocked with excellent fish and myriads of water-fowl. The 
shores were shallow and literally paved with fresh-water clams. 
In order to facilitate visiting between their camps, as well 
as to cross the lakes when necessary, tlie_\- had to have boats or 
canoes, and as there was no timber suitable for such, they found a ready substi- 
tute in the tule stalks, which grew in the greatest profusion, and which could 
readily be found from sixteen to eighteen feet in length. 

When they wanted to make a boat, or "balsa," as they were calletl, they sent 
the women in with knives to cut the longest tules they could find. They were 
gathered at one place and spread out to dry. When sutificiently dried, a large lot 
of green willow withes were gathered, also some poles that were peeled and 
hardened by heating in the fire, and were as long as the contemplated boat was 
intended to be. 

The women then took the dry tules, laid them down smoothly on the ground, 
strung out to the length of the proposed boat, sixteen, eighteen or twenty feet, 
as the case might be, lapping the butts at the center and then causing the roll to 
taper, cigar-fashion, from the center to nothing at each end. 

126 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



With green withes they securely bound these bundles, the poles shaping and 
stiffening it, and great weights could be carried. When finished, they were 
trimmed neatly on the outside and rode the water as buoyantly as a duck, and 
could be handled as securely and easily as any boat. 

When not in use, they were drawn out of the water and allowed to dry out. 
By careful use, they could be made to last a long time. 

We learn from the history of the Conquistadores of Mexico and Peru that 
similar craft were in use on the lakes of Mexico (Chapala) and also on the lakes 
of Peru, particularly on Lake Titicaca, 12.500 feet above sea-level, at the north 
end of which are found the remains of Cyclopean buildings, which seem never to 
have been completed, and which belonged to some civilization anterior to that of 
the Incas found by Pizarro. 

Upon some of these buildings were found carvings representing the same 
kind of "balsa" in use then as at this day, and such as our Tulare Indians seem 
to have understood how to construct most perfectly. 



X>^l)en Owo <5o65 "^ere '^or5l)lf f e6 

A Story of Santa Barbara Mission Life. 
Santa Ana Club. 

WORDS AND MEANINGS. 

Kiwa — A large burden-basket resting on the back and shoulders, and secured by strap 
across forehead. 

Gentile Indians — Indians who did not accept the Mission teachings. 

A-chup or Chupu — The god of the stream now known as Mission Creek. 

Mimaluse — Dead. 

Majella — Mah-hay-Iah. 

Calistro — Kah-lees-thro. 

Mejiias — May-hee-us. 

Portola — Por-to-lah. 

Engracia — Angrashia. 

Eduardo — Ed-ward-o. 

1ST!" 

Without a change of expression, Engracia's eyes turned 
toward the direction from which came the sibilant sound, then 
stealthily glanced at the women who were somewhat in advance. 
At last she spoke, as though talking to herself. 

"Why come you here? Do you not know that Father 
Portola has said until the harvest passes we may not mate? 
Go now. for I am even thus too weary to keep up with the 
other squaws, and if my kiwa ( kee wah ) be less filled, 'twill but prolong our 
waiting. 

"Engracia. I do not like this life. Marda tells me that we were once like the 
Gentile Indians, among whom a brave may take his squaw at his sweet will. 
'Tis now four moons since you were fit to mate and I languish without you. 
Why should you toil for all, when I need you ?" 

"Ah, Eduardo, when you talk to me in this way, my heart is wild within me 

127 




Historic Facts and Fancies 



and I tremble lest I throw discretion to the winds, as the squaws the chaff at 
the threshing. I fain would fling me at your feet, for my life is ripe for love. 
Last night, I was for stealing away to you. T feigned sleep, when the saintly 
IMajella came and lay beside me, telling me of Mejiias' determination to become 
a priest ' 

"Mejiias a priest!" interru])te(l Eduardo. with a grunt. "And why but that 
the coward's heart failed him when Majella told him she should devote her life 
to the IVIission Fathers! I tell you. Engracia, Mejiias" heart is hot with love 
as is yours and mine, and but for the jMission, Majella w^ould sleep in his arms 
tonight, whether she willed or not, even as is done daily among the Gentile 
Indians. But Majella is enthralled of these mouthings taught in the chapel, 
and she bewitches Mejiias with the incantation, so he chokes his fiery desire and 
cravenly pretends to undersand the responses. Engracia, I tell you I will not 
submit to such as this. Majella shall not persuade you. ^'ou shall come to me! 
You share my couch this night !" 

^'et, as he moved to lay hands upon the girl, the brush crackled and old 
]\Iarda's hawk-like eyes peered at them. 

'"Huh, huh! Eduardo, get you away at once, for yon overseer has been 
looking for this young scjuaw and ill would it fare with you both did he find her 
loitering." 

"Loitering, is it? Why should she thus gather seeds for the ^Mission? Sup- 
pose the grain does run short ! \\'ould that they should lack until all could 
again go free! Who made these Spaniards our masters? Methinks our gods 
were kinder ; they did not require these meaningless mouthings which the Fathers 
call Mass." 

"Hush ! Eduardo, it had been pleasure to you but for your failure with 
the music. Huh ! you need not dart your killing glances at me. Old Marda 
may say her prayers in the humility becoming her as 'squaw trusty," but she 
loses little of what goes on among the discontented people of the Mission. Here, 
you, Engracia, your kiwa is not such as to please. Have you no regard for the 
hunger that may follow such negligence?" 

Though her tone seemed severe, the harsh, cynical cackle with which she 
ended her words belied the implied severity. 

.\s Engracia moved to adjust her kiwa, her ankle turned, causing a faintness, 
which, added to the indisposition with which she had all day been struggling, left 
her senseless on the ground. Eduardo sprang forward, seized her in his arms, 
and started off in a mad run for liberty. What if she did not know it. she was 
his squaw ! He would escape to the Gentile Indians. As he ran. stumbling over 
low brush in the gathering dusk, he held the senseless form passionately to him, 
exultingly grunting his satisfaction. 

But he had not taken into account old Marda's warning ainmt the overseer. 
A blow from behind, and he fell. With discretion born of the experience of 
others, he feigned unconsciousness. 

Sehor Jose had not had his work hindered by this refractory fellow to the 
betterment of his disposition, and he stopped to mercilessly gore this "dog. of an 
Indian" with his spurs. Now did Eduardo's stoical ancestry bear well its fruit, 
for, though the blood flowed through the torn clothing, the fallen brave did not 
wince. Sefior Jose was com]:)letely deceived. Lifting the senseless girl across 
the pommelless saddle, he left the young buck for a later reckoning and returned 
to the Mission with his almost lifeless burden. 

W' hen he sought for luluardo. he found him not. nor did the trusty neophytes 
who searched many hours the succeeding day. Only old Marda suspected the 
feint which had outwitted the overseer. And Marda. true as she was in all out- 

128 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



ward observances of the church, was yet much of an enigma. In her mingled 
strangely the new faith and the superstition of her former condition. True to 
all tangible trusts, she yet warned and helped any neophytes who desired to 
escape the routine of prayers and work which made up by far the greater part of 
the Mission Indian's life. No overt act betrayed her, nor was she suspected of 
anything which would reveal her sympathy with her people's wrongs, real or 
fancied. 

The next day, when Marda and her charges went into the fields to gather 
seeds, from which atole could be made when the Mission stores ran short, or 
were like to run short, Engracia did not go with them. Sefior Jose had given 
orders that she be detained in the quarters of the unmarried women, until the 
field-laborers had left the Mission, when she was to go to the grinding-room. 
Those in this room were farther removed from the men's quarters than were the 
other workers. 

But Sehor Jose had no cause to fear anything from Engracia today. The 
girl lay on the rude but comfortable bed shared by her with Majella. The eyes 
were dull and staring vacantly into space ; the hands were limp and clammy ; "the 
heart-beats slow and irregular. 

Several of the children had been stricken in a similar way, and few there 
were who had improved under the Fathers' ministrations. Illness and death 
among the older Indians were so common as to cause little concern, but when 
the young, who were uncommonly hardy, began to fall by the dread destroyer, 
much anxiety was felt, for on the youth who were being reared in the Church 
depended the hope for permanency in the Mission work. 

Alajella reported the condition of Engracia, and with sinking heart the 
Father bade that she be brought, that he might minister to her body and bless 
her soul to recover her from the contagion. Though all was done, at dusk she 
still lay as at dawn, nor was there any change the following morning. 

Moreover, there were others ill, this being the beginning of the wor.st 
epidemic known in the history of the Santa Barbara Mission. Each day, new 
cases were reported and each night found many newly made graves in the burial- 
plot near the Mission, where on the cemetery cross hung the image of the 
Saviour, calm even in crucifixion. 

No previous sickness had so baffled the skill of the priests. Fasting and 
prayer seemed of no avail, and an abject terror seemed to possess the Indians, 
insomuch that it was difficult to persuade the well to nurse the stricken ones. 
Perhaps no greater responsibility can be felt than when a body of human beings, 
who scarcely reason for themselves, turn for help — indeed for very life itself — 
to a conscientious man who feels his incompetency to cope with the dire condi- 
tions of their lot. The self-sacrifice and anxious care can be known only by those 
who have met such a demand. 

At last several of the Indians, seeing no respite, notwithstanding the un- 
tiring ministrations of the priests, began to murmur their discontent. Meet for 
such a time was the sudden advent of Eduardo. Watching till the Brotherhood 
were on their way to the farther side of the Indian quarters, the exile crept 
stealthily to an opening in the walls and gave 'a low guttural "Huh! Huh! Huh! 
Huh! Huh! Huh!" 

Immediately, all was attention among the Indians who were not asleep,^ 
and several of the restless ones glided noiselessly out in response to the summons. 
Once safely out, they would not be missed, for the patients, who had been removed 
to the hospital quarters, required all the thought of the missionaries at this 
time. 

As Eduardo noted the braves who came out to him, he seemed dissatisfied 

129 



Histoj^ic Facts and Fancies 

that they were so few in nunil)er. Drawins^' himself u]) till he seemed to tower 
ahove them, he gave vent to his scorn. "Go back ! ( lo back to your mouthings ; 
go back to your cring;ing- servility; go back to your ravaging ])lague. ( )utside 
the Church, we are jirotected by Achu]\ whose stream these self-styled bene- 
factors drink from. Think you that while he is god of the stream, he shall not 
repay these usurpers who have builded on its banks, perfidiously using the water 
while they decry the god of the water? Though the priest bless the water over 
and over, the curse of Chupu is more powerful, and those who drink of the 
stream without sacrificing to its god shall not recover, though these men spend 
all their time on their knees. I have seen one of the Brothers ascending the 
tower steps on his knees and saying his prayers at every step. But was the 
plague stopped? Was it not rather the worse? Huh! Go back, you long to 
sleep in the mimaluse dust. Huh! huh!" 

"What is this?" queried the group of Indians. Long had the priests striven 
to win them from the worship of Achup. Doubtless what they had just heard 
was true, and they were under the curse of their former deity. Interest and 
caution were manifest in each movement as they drew nearer to Eduardo, who, 
seeing the efTect of his words, at once assumed the office of medicine-man and 
began chanting weirdly in muffled voice, calling upon Chupu to verify his state- 
ments. 

it needed little to influence his listeners, and they protested their desire to 
follow him to freedom at once. But Eduardo was keen enough to see how short- 
lived would be his popularity among the Gentile Indians, whose religious feelings 
])artook less of superstition than did those of the neophytes, in whom the new 
faith and the old worship struggled alternately for mastery. He retired some- 
what, still chanting, then came toward them in crouched, mysterious manner, 
murmuring indistinct words. After peering long and fixedly into first one face 
and then another, he straightened himself to his full height and spoke in low, 
vehement tone : 

"Xo, come not with me. Go rather to each Brother in the Mission and say 
the plague will not depart till each convert has repudiated his faith in Christus, 
and sacrificed to Achup. But stay ! He who reveals to the priests this secret 
worship shall sufifer slow and horrible torture till he dies." Thus saying, he 
turned and stalked majestically away. 

The frightened Indians watched him a moment, then turning toward the 
Mission, counselled how they would get the word to the women-patients' quarters. 
One went to the men's quarters, others to the families', and Calistro, an unusually 
daring yet wary buck, sought old Marda. In less than an hour every Indian 
knew, and the resolve was taken. In vain did the ministering Brotherhood 
moisten the dry lips, no patient swallowed. The message was aided in its 
journey by the fact that neither Spaniard nor Indian comprehended much of the 
other's vocabulary. 

At last, a sufficient number of trusties were left in charge, so that most of 
the patients could be taken to the stream, and the worship began. Some died 
before this was accomplished. 

For several days this secret sacrifice was continued, Eduardo giving com- 
mands from time to time. Perhaps the new interest had something to do with 
it, or perhai)s the water from an old Indian spring, which water Eduardo had 
ordered used, contained less impurities that were hariuful in this particular sick- 
ness ; or, perhaps, the e]^idemic had had its day. However it may be, cer- 
tain it is that the contagion began to abate and a large percentage of 
the then stricken ones were saved. Though Engracia had been among the 
earlier victims, unlike the others she had lain all the time in a stupc^r. and, when 

130 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



all were recovering-, had drifted back into consciousness, much emaciated, but 
undoubtedly convalescent. 

Eduardo had gained little. The long illness had made the priests more 
tender of the converts, and it was at the season when there was less work 
than at any other time of the year. While the Indians could secretly worship 
Achup and be fed and clothed at the Mission, no active measures were taken. 
So matters went on for some time. 

On his stealthy visits, Eduardo had not seen Engracia. After making many 
futile attempts, he at last told his friends, who came out for his communications 
concerning Achup, that he had dreamed that when he had the maiden he could 
invoke the curse of Chupu upon the priests, so that all who continued to use the 
water from the stream would die. Then, said Eduardo, the orchards and vine- 
yards would be theirs to use as they chose ; also the musical instruments and 
bells, the rich tapestries, and the brilliant pictures. Besides, then they could ride 
again their horses over the hills at will, combining the comforts of the new life 
with the pleasures of the old. It is but just to say the better class of the Indians 
would have scorned this, for they loved the priests and were much concerned if 
one of them lay ill for several days. 

The malcontents, having no appreciation of the selfless devotion of the 
Fathers, were persuaded by such generous promises for the future, and the next 
night, when all else was silent in sleep, they brought Engracia to the outer en- 
closure. On returning to the Mission, they spoke to some of the curse now to 
hang over the Brotherhood, and for several weeks there were those who watched 
for it to fall. But there came no change ; no deaths occurred, nor were any 
of the missionaries ill. Their explanation of this came about somewhat indirectly. 

A half-wit was repeatedly disorderly in the chapel, and at last one of the 
Fathers, who had in vain used other means, inflicted corporal punishment. In 
his extreme anger, the offender called upon the god of the sun to curse the 
priest. For this, he was placed in a dark room, and Mejiias was given the task 
of bringing him to realize the enormity of his crime. How well he succeeded 
may be known from the result, for when repentance came, the sinner refused 
food or drink. This was meet, indeed, for a convert of the Franciscans, who 
so firmly believed the soul could be bettered by afflicting the body. But 
Mejiias was not yet a priest and there still lingered sympathy for the physical 
man. After many efforts, he discovered that the fear that the curse he had asked 
for would fall and destroy the priest was the cause of the poor Indian's wretched- 
ness. So he told him that the holy water made the priests invulnerable to the 
curse of all gods save one. The poor half-wit, in his joy, told several of his 
fellows. The Achup followers accepted this, and most of the Indians, ever 
changeable, again took up the Mission service with zeal. 

Again came the annual seed-gathering, and old Marda marshalled her forces 
and went to the fields. It was a goodly season this year and the harvest lasted 
late, else a part of my story had not been written. The last day of the gathering" 
was at hand ; dusk had already fallen -^vhile they were still some distance from the 
Mission, and old Marda slowly followed her charges homeward. The sound of 
running arrested her attention, and as she halted, a specter-like woman, gasping" 
for breath, reached her side and dropped quickly into her arms a small bundle 
which gave forth a wailing sound. Old Marda looked long at the silent mother, 
who turned and soon disappeared in the direction from which she came. It was 
Engracia, and though no words were spoken, Marda understood that she gave 
her babe to the Church. 

Immediately upon her arrival at the Mission, Marda sent word to Father 
Portola, who came and baptized the child. The lands about the Mission were 

131 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



searched and watched for several days, but no one of them ever a.^ain saw 
Engracia. 

The child was named Jesus ( Ha-suse ) and a fine little fellow he proved to 
be. Never had Marda shown such interest in person. |)lace or thing' as she did 
now in her infant charge. When he waked, she watched and played with him ; 
when he slept, she habitually took him to the chaijel. where she made the sign of 
the cross on his forehead with the holy water. Her unusual devotion was noticed 
by the priests, who observed to one another that it would but more fully conse- 
crate Jesus to the Church. 

Marda grew bolder. Ostensil)ly i)re])aring to wash the step just outside the 
chapel door, she filled her basin with tlie holy water, replacing it with water from 
a jar that stood in the corridor. Then hastening to her quarters, she bathed the 
little Jesus. For several weeks, she secretly exulted over the blessing she had 
thus brought him. She then decided to repeat the work in order to make it 
doubly sure. All went well as before until she reached the chapel. Her keen 
eyes swept the room, but failed to see the Brother kneeling near the first altar. 
Just as she lifted the upper vessel, the Brother turned. Horrified at the sacrilege, 
he put her out of the chapel and fastened her in a dark room. 

Here the poor old woman languished for a sight of her loved child, but no 
word of exi)lanation or repentance could the good Father wring from her lips. 
At last, ]\Iajella was permitted to go to her. Marda received her with inscrutable 
expression and said not a word, until the girl told her that Jesus was ill for want 
of her care, and not until some reason for her action was given could she be 
taken to him. C"rying out incoherently at first, she told ]\Iajella of the curse of 
Achup ; that the holy water had ])rotected the priests and she desired the same 
immunity for Jesus. 

( iladly the girl summoned Father Portola, who heard it from her, for Alarda 
was less communicative after her first outburst. But this tacit confession had to 
be taken, as jMarda relapsed into her dogged silence, and the priests were loth 
to trust Jesus to less experienced hands just then. 

This was the beginning of a series of confessions, the secret sacrifices to 
Achup were disclosed, and the priests could work more intelligently against the 
superstition, which was eventually rooted out. And in the history of Santa 
Barbara Mission will be found the story of the epidemic and the long struggle to 
dethrone the superstitious worship of Achup. 



132 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




Ol)e "^l^lstle in tl)e Straw 

A Christmas Legend of Santa Clara ]\Iission, by Charles D. South. 
Alountain \'ie\v \\\iman's Club. 
I. 

N the long ago at the Christmastide, 

In the Mission of old Saint Claire, 
The faithful gathered about a crib 

Decked out by the Padres there. 
The rich and the poor knelt down to pray 

As they gazed on the image sweet 
Of the Holy Child that lay on the straw 

At the Virgin Mary's feet. 
And some threw silver down to the Babe, 

And some threw gifts of gold, 
And some brought only the gift of love. 

So prized in the Master's fold. 
And one there was, and a child was he — 

A wee, little Indian boy. 
His clothes were ragged ; his feet were bare ; 

Yet his tan face shone with joy. 
He saw the givers and all their gifts, 

And he thought, "How poor am I 
Who nothing bring to the Infant Lord," 

And there rose from his heart a sigh. 

II. 

He waited there till the crowd was gone. 

And then to the crib drew nigh. 
And the Babe Divine, with a love untold. 

Looked up with a beaming eye. 
Then the Indian boy from his coat of shreds 

A little tin whistle drew. 
And lilted a bit of a Spanish air — • 

The only tune that he knew. 
He played for a while and paused to see 

If the music pleased the Child, 
And the lad's face gleamed, for the Infant King- 
In radiant ecstasy smiled. 
Then over and over he played his tune, 

And he thought, as he whistled away, 
"Though silver or gold I have none to give. 

He is happiest while I play." 

III. 

When he parted thence from his Baby Lord, 

In his mud-walled home the boy 
The tale of the Babe and the whistle told, 

And the wonderful smile of joy. 
And he cried : "I love, and the Babe loves me — 

133 



Historic F^ a c t s and Fancies 



'Twas my soul that ])laye(l. 1 know ; 

I'll back to the crib antl my whistle leave 
For the L'abc when he starts to grow. 

Aly little tin whistle is all I have — 
It is all, save the love I hold ; 

But the Child will like it— I know lie will- 
As dearly as if "twerc gold!" 

I\'. 

In the long ago, at the Christmastide, 
In the Mission of old Saint Claire. 

This tale was told by a whistle they found 
In the straw l)v the Infant there. 




^ ^oKo (yokobO JF'utieral (Teremon^, 
IS66. Over a^ea6 (Tbief 

The writer is indebted to Orlando Barton, one of the boys who were present, for 
the description of this ceremony. 

X September, 1866, nearly three thousand Indians from all the 
surrounding country assembled on a salt-grass flat about 
thirteen miles northeast of Visalia, near where the Hamilton 
school-house now stands. There they held funeral services for 
a chief who had departed for the "happy hunting grounds" more 
than a year before. 

Soon after sundown the campfires were builded, and all 
was in readiness. 
The ceremonies took place in front of a semicircular brush platform 
about three hundred feet across and a foot high. Back of this was another 
small platform, four feet wide, fenced oft' with poles. This was occupied 
by the musicians, four in number, who each played upon a dift'erent instru- 
ment ; a drum, and peculiar stringed instruments each made of forked sticks, 
across which strings of skin were tightly drawn. 

( )n the main platform with the priests were twelve male singers. The 
priests, four in number, were dressed in Indian costume, with the addition 
of "overalls." and each wore a head-dress made of long feathers, standing 
straight up. 

The head priest stood in the center of the platform and an Indian 
guard sat on each of the front corners. Around the platform and back of it 
stood ])rominent Indians. In front was an audience of between two and 
three thousand Indians, four white boys (Jim Jasper, Enos and (Jrlando 
liarton. Xeph Bennell) and a negro boy named Jack Cronley. 

When all was in readiness the musicians pla^'cd and the choir sang. 
This was followed by a consultation of the i~)riests, at the conclusion of 
which, each made a few remarks, raising iheir hands heavenward as if in- 
voking the blessing of the "Great S])irii." The head priest then delivered 

134 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



the oration. He was a perfect type of physical manhood, possessed great 
dignity of manner and had a rich musical voice. 

So perfect was his facial expression and his gestures in illustrating the 
principal events in the life of the illustrious chief that even those who 
knew not a word of the language understood perfectly what was said — 
fighting, hunting, and fishing were vividly brought out through the medium 
of gestures. 

In telling how the old chief finally reached the night of years — became 
ill, and laid himself down to die — the speaker's countenance changed ; his 
voice became soft and low. The audience stood breathless, with eyes fixed 
upon him. They seemed to live over again that death scene, so perfectly 
was it portrayed. The speaker paused — then with uplifted head and a 
sweeping gesture of the right hand, accompanied by a sound like the' whis- 
pering of the winds through the pines (a long, sibilant cry), first loud, then 
gradually diminishing, he told how the spirit of the great chief floated out 
into space — the sound gradually died in the distance — a most dramatic 
climax. 

The band again played and the choir chanted a sort of lamentation or 
dirge. Just at this moment a drunken Indian with a long knife pressed 
toward the boys, who were standing near the platform, threatening to kill 
them. The abusive fellow was finally taken away and a while after the 
white boys were escorted to the rear of the shed. There a ghastly sight 
awaited them. Lying on the ground, with lips slashed and bleeding, was 
the drunken Indian. The Indians wished the boys to understand that they 
would quickly mete out justice to those wdio did not observe their rules. 

In the meantime preparations were being made for the funeral dance. 
The young men formed a circle about three hundred feet in diameter in 
the center of which was a large fire. They joined hands and swung to the 
left, singing as they went — 

A him — o ha na 

ha na ne 

Later on the step quickened and the music changed to 

Wis a na la t coho lo ne 

dun da 

This dance was kept up nearly all night. It was a point of honor to 
see who could hold out the longest. Those who became tired and left the 
circle received not cheers but jeers from those who remained. As the night 
advanced, however, the circle became smaller and by three o'clock less 
than one-third of the original number remained. During the dancing about 
a hundred young squaws arranged themselves in three rows in front of 
the platform. They reclined with the left elbow on the ground, the head 
resting on the hand. All cried in unison in a peculiar low, weird, mournful 
tune. At the high part of the chant they raised the body but still kept 
the elbows on the ground. Like the dance this was kept up the greater por- 
tion of the night. 



135 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



laiiiiitii iM 










^ \ » 



Ol.l) X'AI.LKIO TIOL'SE 




OLD ADOKE NEAR ST. JIELICXA. 

The old adobe was built in 1845 ^^y Cayetano Juarez, who owned a Mexican 
grant of 8,865.58 acres of land. He was very ])roniineiit in Xa])a county history. 
The place is still occui)ied by a daughter of his and her family, and is now 
known as the iMedcalf place. 

136 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




Olje 016 ^6obe, Jpetaluma (TountY* 
(Talifornia 

Contributed by the Woman's Club, Petaluma. 

LTHOUGH Petaluma was settled very early, even before Cali- 
fornia became a State, yet landmarks and relics are rare. One 
of the liest known is called the "Old Adobe," and was built by 
(reneral !M. G. Vallejo on his ranch, Arroyo Lema. In searching 
for authentic information, the following- letter was received from 
(reneral X'allejo in 1889: 

"I built the house from 1834 to 1844, and it was of immense 
proportions, owing to its having different departments for fac- 
tories and warehouses. I made blankets enough to supply over 2,000 Indians, 
also carpets and a coarse material used by them for their wearing apparel ; a 
large tannery also, where we manufactured shoes for the troops and vaqueros ; 
also a blacksmith shop for making saddles, bridles, spurs and many other things 
required by the horsemen. I have a blanket still in my possession made there, 
and, although in constant use, is in perfect condition. 

"My harvest productions were so large that my storehouses were literally 
overfilled every year. In 1843, ^Y wheat and barley crop amounted to 72,000 
Spanish bushels. My plowmen were only 200 men. Corn, about 5,000 Spanish 
bushels, besides a superabundance of all the grains in daily use, as beans, peas, 
lentils and vegetables of all kinds. All these products were stored in different 
departments of this large house, besides giving freely to the Indians — who lived 
in the surrounding country and at peace with me. A large number of hides 
were preserved every year, also tallow, lard, and dried meat to sell to the 'Yan- 
kees.' In one wing of the house upstairs I lived with my family when in 
Petaluma. The south front was 250 feet long, and formed a large square, it 
having an immense courtyard inside, where every morning the laborers met to 
call the roll before dispersing for their various occupations. 

"The house was two stories high and very solid, made of adobe and timber 
brought by oxen from the redwoods, and planed for use by the old-fashioned saw 
by four Kanakas (my servants) brought from the Sandwich Islands by Captain 
Cooper, my brother-in-law. ' It had wide corridors inside and outside, some of 
which were carpeted with our own made carpets. Mr. Fowler, father of Mr. 
Henry Fowler of Napa, was the last carpenter who worked on my old house. It 
was never attacked by the Indians. When I was taken prisoner by the Bear 
Flag party this house was filled with what I have already mentioned, and they 
disposed of everything. The word Petaluma signifies in the Indian language 
'a beautiful panorama seen in a great declivity from all points." " 
"Yours very truly, 

"M. G. Valleto." 



137 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



Dole 




res 

IMcasant Hour CIul). 

HERE arc unusual sij^-ns of life on the rancheria known as 
"Asrua Caliente," on this evening in early September, for word 
has been i)assed around among the dwellers on the hillside and 
in the \alleys of the remote Indian village in Southern Cali- 
fornia. that a teacher is coming to them from the great world 
over the mountains, and that the building just erected near the 
old mission church is to be her home. This tribe of Indians, 
like many others in California, had many years ago received 
valuable instruction from the Mission fathers, but since the secularization of 
the missions in the early thirties, there had l)een a gradual decline in their 
manner of living, until at the time we are introduced to them, they had lost 
much of that which they had received from those faithful and self-sacrificing 
missionaries. The older members of the tribe have told the younger members 
of Padre Alcuna, who lived with them man}^ years and who taught them the 
prayers which they still repeat, and of God and Christ and the saints ; but 
years have passed since then, and, but for the yearly visit of a padre from Old 
Town by-the-sea. their flickering faith in the religion taught them would 
have entirely died out, and the primitive faith of their forefathers, who, for 
so many years, had claimd the valleys, the surrounding mesas and mountains 
as theirs, would have been their only belief, if such it could be called. 

The long line of dust is the signal that the stage is coming, and as its 
arrival is the most exciting event of the day, as usual, a crowd is collecting 
at the hostelry known as "El Casco Blanco." The halt, the lame, and those 
afflicted with the diseases that flesh is heir to are greatly in evidence, for 
have not the baths of Agua Caliente had the reputation for ages of being 
a cure-all for all infirmities? A cluster of old adobe houses and some more 
recent ones of unpainted lumber, a few bath-houses of rude construction 
with a stream of steaming water, make up this primitive sanitarium. Not 
far distant, on the other side of the acequia, is the Campo Santo, the burial 
place of these people, and the graves with their white crosses and images, 
and the white picket-fence that surrounds them, stand out in bold relief 
against the l^ackground of gray sage-brush. A dozen or more of the children 
and a few of the older people, impatient to see the passengers and, especially, 
to get a glimpse of the teacher, have gone out beyond the springs and are 
waiting by the roadside. Among the group is a white man, and the little 
bright-eyed, dark-faced girl, with the red rebosa over her head, calls him 
"father." In perfect English he bids her get down from the manzanilla 
tree, where she has climbed, and calls her "Dolores." This man, who is 
called by the Indians Senor Burton, is one of the characters of the place and 
has a history, a little of which we must give to you. Twenty-five years ago 
he came to this resort, then almost unknown save to the natives. Eor 
many years he had been in ill health and was directed to this j-dace by a 
friend, and so attached did he become to the easy-going life of the Indian 
reservation, that he cast his lot with them and took to be his wife one of the 
maidens. Maria by name. Dolores, the favorite child of this union, now 
a girl of fourteen, shows ])lainly that the blood of two races is surging 
through her veins, and. com])aring her with her brothers and sisters, you are 
forced to the conclusion that the inheritance from the superior race is 

138 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



much in preponderance. The large, questioning eyes, with the longing, 
anticipating look in them are strangely unlike those of her sisters, Chica 
and Eletha, or her brothers, Felipe and Refugio ; otherwise they are much 
alike, and you would readily recognize them as half-breeds and brothers and 
sisters. Ever since Dolores has been old enough to think, she has been 
curious to know of her father's home and people, and of the great world, 
of which her home, shut in by the mountains, is but a speck. 

The bronchos, panting and nearly exhausted from the tiresome uphill 
drive of forty miles, come slowly up the rough road, past the ruins of the 
ancient pueblo and the mill, "El Molino." and are driven to the hitching- 
posts in front of El Casco Blanco. Five, dust-covered, weary travelers alight 
and among them ]\Irs. Vaughan, the teacher; Salvador, the alcalde, and 
Seiior Burton are on hand to welcome her. "Will the sehora please pass this 
way?" It is Salvador to whom this duty has fallen, and in his best English, 
learned of Seiior Burton, he asks of her trip over the mountains and if she 
is not tired. Passing through the patio, she is shown her room which opens 
ofif from it, and is pleased to find that it is spotlessly clean and has everything 
in it necessary for her comfort. After removing her dust-covered garments 
and refreshing herself in the water poured out for her, she awaits the call to 
supper. The children of Senor Burton, because of their knowledge of 
English, are often called on by IManuel, the proprietor of the hotel, to assist 
in serving the meals. Dolores has the honor of bidding the teacher to 
supper, and of waiting upon her at the table. This reservation, like all 
in California, shows unmistakably the work done by the Mission fathers, 
and so we find here nearly all, young and old, speak Spanish. Dolores 
does not know the English names of some of the dishes she is to serve and 
she asks, "Will the scnora have chile con came? Frijoles? Of course, she 
will have tortillas f And figs with cream? And melon?" The little maiden, 
interspersing English with euphonious Spanish, has already aroused the 
curiosity of Mrs. Vaughan, and she asks how it is that she speaks so well 
the two languages. "I learn English from my father and Spanish from my 
mother. Aly father not always been here ; my mother never been anywhere 
else. She sabe Spanish and Indian ; she no sabe English much." 

Mrs. Vaughan is not a stranger to the Indian and his ways, for she has 
been sent here from another reservation because of her peculiar fitness for 
organizing schools of this kind. The meal over, she returns to her room 
to think over the situation and plan for the morrow. She must have some 
one to live with her, and, charmed with the little girl who is her first real 
acquaintance, she decides that it shall be Dolores. At the table, next morn- 
ing, she finds a bunch of roses by her plate, and her little friend ready to 
wait upon her. The meal over, escorted by the alcalde and a few of the 
leading men of the town, she enters the building which, for many years, is 
to be her home and the place from which are to go forth many influences 
for good to this people, but to none more than to the child, Dolores. In an 
eastern city, the children of Mrs. V^aughan are at school and her mother-heart 
is empty. Perhaps the dusky child, Dolores, will help the heart-ache, and so 
she visits Sehor Burton and asks that she may live with her. Only too glad 
to have his daughter in such good hands, he gladly consents, and Dolores's 
cup of happiness is full. After a few days, we find a school-room full of 
children of all ages. Little ones seated on the floor, with bright-colored 
blocks and pictures, and the older ones seated at desks. The stolid faces 
light up and encouraged by the teacher, in broken English, and better 
Spanish, they occasionally ask a question. Everything outside this mountain 

139 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



home is a mystery to them, tlie untutored and neglected. Dolores frequently 
acts as interpreter and the teacher appeals to her often for assistance. Until 
recently the few Sj^ianish and Indian words of the home have served their 
simple needs, but now tlicir Aocabulary must be enlarged to meet the 
demands, and the language, some of which they have already learned, must 
be mastered. 

Let us leave the school-room for a few minutes and find, by crossing the 
hallway, what kind of a home has been made by the teacher and her pro- 
tege. The large room, which serves as a sitting- and sleeping-room, has in 
the middle of it a table covered with a bright cloth. A student lamp, a few 
books, and a vase of flowers are upon it. I'here are also an improvised book- 
case, well stocked with books; a folding couch, some easy chairs, and a few^ 
other necessary articles of furniture. Upon the walls hang several pictures, 
reminders of home, and upon the floor are bright-colored rugs of Indian manu- 
facture. A part of the broad veranda in the rear has been enclosed, at the 
suggestion of Mrs. Vaughan, and a comfortable kitchen and dining-room 
have been made. One end of the hall which separates the school-room from 
the home has been curtained off and is Dolores's room. Keenly she has 
watched and copied minutely everything pertaining to her toilet, fearing lest 
she may oft'end by the ignorance of the proprieties of civilized life, and 
caring for nothing so much as to be worth}^ of the love and esteem of her 
"school-mother." "I am your 'school-child,' " she often says, and takes good 
comfort in the thought. 

Let us look upon them after the day's w'ork is over. The}' are sitting 
at the table and one is reading a letter from her far-away children ; the 
other has her books around her and is studying. Occasionally a question is 
asked and answered. A great longing to be like other people of whom 
she has read and heard has taken possession of her, and she asks, "Can I 
ever go out in the great world and be something, or somebody ; a nurse, or 
a doctor, or a teacher? Oh, is it true that because I am not white, there is 
nothing for me but the life wdiich my mother's people have led for ages? 
You are so good, but when you go back to your children you will not care 
for me," and the tears wdiich she cannot control fall upon the book. "Oh, 
why did my father leave his beautiful home and bring himself and me into 
this place, where we know so little and can do nothing but the things which 
I dislike! All m}' life long, or since I have been able to think, I hated the 
dark and dreary Indian life, and longed for the life which you live. Wy 
father never tells me anything about his old home, but three times I have 
looked into the little leather trunk which he brought with him wdien he 
came to this valle}- many years ago. I know, now that I can read, that he 
lived in a grand old city, with many large and beautiful houses, and he lived 
in one of them, and I have seen the picture of it and of his father, and 
mother, and a brother and two sisters. 

"You tell me that in another year, if I study all that is in my school-books, 
I shall go wath you and you wdll leave me at the great school for Indian boys 
and girls. You tell me that I may be a nurse or a teacher, and perhaps a 
doctor if I study long enough. I want so much to go, and if Felipe can go 
with me, I shall not be lonesome. I want to know much, very much, so that 
I may come back and teach our people how to live. Then they will not sit 
on the ground to eat, as they do now, but will sit at the table, as w^e do, 
and will wear good clothes." 

Mrs. Vaughan enjoyed nothing better than to assist her, and the even- 

140 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



inc^s around the student-lamp in the living-room were a delight to both 
teacher and pupil. 

The years have come and gone, and the fourth year is drawing to a 
close. Word has come from Washington that if five pupils can be found, 
who can pass the examination, they may enter Carlisle. Dolores can hardly 
wait for the time to come, for she has so thoroughly mastered her studies 
that she does not fear for the examination, but her anxiety is great for 
Felipe who has had a great struggle to learn his lessons, and she fears he 
may not pass. The father, through dissipation, ill-health, and the years 
spent among the dark people, cares little for the advancement of his children 
or that they may have that which he prized so little. Those who know him 
best are sure that an unwritten history not favorable to his character is the 
answer to this indifference. 

June has come, and the school with its forty pupils is about to close. 
The final examination is over. Dolores heads the list, with Felipe not far 
behind ; Juan, Pasqual, and Ramon have also passed and complete the list. 
The school-mother is looking forward with pleasure to the trip East and to 
the entrance of these children into the school at Carlisle. Dolores makes 
a parting visit to the old home and vainly tries to impress the father and 
mother with the great honor that has come to them in having two children 
ready to enter the great school in the East. Good-byes are said, and four 
stalwart horses are pawing the earth in front of El Casco Blanco, ready to 
carry the teacher and her charges to the station. The sadness of the few 
moments of parting are soon over and, as they leave the mountains behind 
them, which have so long shut them in from the great world of which they 
are now to learn so much, they cast a last, lingering look at the old peaks 
and cry, "Adios, Adios !" 

Dolores, fearing the boys will become frightened and run away, tries to 
keep them interested by telling them of the locomotive and how, many years 
ago, a little boy, watching the steam as it came from his mother's tea-kettle, 
gave to the world the thought that led to the locomotive. "Do you remember 
how the men refused to work when they were putting down the pipe from 
the mountain spring at Campo Santo, because they could not understand 
how the water could get to the school-yard where the teacher wanted it? 
They did not understand that because the spring, from which the water 
came, was much higher than the school-yard, it would be forced up the hill 
by pressure. They pointed at teacher and said 'Loco, loco!' and would not 
go on until she promised to give them four dollars a day for their work if 
the water did not come. When the yard was reached and the pipe was placed, 
and the water came gushing out, they looked up in the sky and said some- 
thing in the Indian language, and then off at Campo Santo. When we were 
told that if we went over to Santa Isabel, we could talk through a wire and 
get an answer, miles and miles away, Juan said he believed everything that 
the teacher told him, but he wouldn't believe ihat, until he had talked through 
the wire and got an answer ; and wasn't it kind of Mrs. Vaughan to take us 
with her down to Santa Isabel, when she went down to talk to the Indian 
agent. Juan talked through the wire and got an answer, and said that he 
would believe the teacher now, no matter what she said. He then tried to 
talk to his grandmother, who died a long time ago, and when no answer came 
he said she was a bad woman, for he had heard that she killed a man and 
he was afraid that she had gone to the 'bad place,' and that was the reason he 
could not hear from her." 

141 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



Can you imagine the scene? Five dark-skinned cliildren of nature taking 
their first ride on the cars. At first, too excited and awed to talk, the school- 
mother anticipates their questions and tells them where they are, and points 
out the places of interest. 

An hour or two is spent in T>os Angeles, where necessary clothing is 
purchased. On the cars again, they rush over bridges and through tunnels; 
"loop the loop" at Tehachapi, which the teacher explains to them, telling 
them that it was a Los Angeles school-boy who solved the prol>lem to 
overcome the obstacles at this point; then on through the San Joaquin 
\'alley to Sacramento, Salt Lake City, Denver, Kansas City ; over the beau- 
tiful prairies of Illinois, into the great city of Chicago. Another stop, and 
on they go; waving fields of grain, orchards and meadows on every hand. 
They find that the world which the mountains of Southern California have 
hidden from them so long, is a very, \er}- big place, and wonder how any 
one ever found them or cared for them. 

Six days of travel and they are at their journey's end. A three-seated 
omnibus drawn by two prancing horses is being driven to the station. It is 
the school "bus," and the driver is one of ATrs. Vaughan's former pupils on 
a Minnesota reservation. Samuel Tuttle is the name the good Bishop of 
Minnesota gave him when he became his charge, and now% a promising young 
man, he is working his way through the Carlisle school. Swiftly, the teacher 
and her charges are carried to the school and on the following da}^ we find 
them with several hundred young Indian men and women in the assembly- 
room, waiting to be classified. Sad but hopeful good-byes were soon said, 
and here we must say farewell and leave them for a time. 

5 

In July, 1906, there convened at Lake ]\Iohawk, New York, one of the 
most interesting meetings of Indian workers ever held, and in one of the 
New York dailies there appeared a very full report of the proceedings. A 
few extracts from this report will be given. Among the complimentary 
things said were the following: 

"Addresses were made by Dr. Samuel Tuttle, a Sioux Indian, and his 
wife, formerly Dolores Burton, a half-breed Mission Indian, bc:»rn and raised 
on a reservation in Southern California. The lecture delivered by Dr. Tuttle 
on 'The Physical Deterioration of the Indian and the Causes,' was one of the 
most interesting and instructive of the convention. The addresses by ]\Irs. 
Tuttle were on 'The Reservations, Their Needs'; 'Government Schools,' and 
'Art Among the Indians.' " There appeared this compliment: "It is seldom 
that we have seen upon the i)latform a more highly cultivated or refined 
speaker than Mrs. Tuttle, or one who understands more perfectly the subject 
of which she treats, and knows how to enlist the sympathy of those who listen. 
When we are told that a few years ago she was an untutored child upon a 
remote mountain reservation, we are free to confess that it pays to equip 
and maintain the best of schools for these people." 

In the spring of 1893, a sister of Mrs. Vaughan, a writer of some note, 
spent a few weeks with her at Agua Caliente. She was engaged at this time 
in securing a collection of Indian baskets, drawn-work, and blankets for 
the Smithsonian Institution, and Dolores, then a girl of seventeen, assisted 
her. She found her so intelligent and interesting that she prophesied a 
future for her. On seeing this account of her in the New York paper, and 
wishing to know of her life since 1893, she sent the following message to 
her : 

"Dear Airs. Tuttle: I have just been reading an account of the Confer- 

142 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



ence at Lake Mohawk, and am sure that yon are the Dolores Burton of 
Agua Caliente. I write to know if you will not give me a brief outline of 
your life from the time you entered the school at Carlisle in 1894. I hope 
to meet you some time and renew the pleasant acquaintance of 1893. Will 
you allow me to make use of the outline which you send me?" 

In a few days the following reply was received : 

"Dear Mrs. Edsall : Your letter is at hand. I can not tell you how proud 
I am that you have remembered me and feel an interest in my welfare, and 
I am glad to be able to give a fair report of myself. 

"You perhaps remember how sad I used to be, to think that there was no 
future for me; no place for me to fill, except such as I had no taste for. 
Really, I made myself very miserable and grieved Mrs. Vaughan by my be- 
havior. You ask for an outline of my life since 1894. I cheerfully give it, 
and if you can use it to encourage some one, I shall be thankful. Please do 
not use anything pertaining to my father that will in any way affect him or 
his family.^ I haVe much to tell you regarding the time spent in Philadelphia, 
but will leave that for another time. 

"I entered the preparatory school at Carlisle in 1894, after spending the 
first six months in the regular school work. I, with several other Indian girls, 
was selected to take a course in Domestic Science, and at the close of the 
term in June, I found a place, or rather, a place was found for me, where I 
might put in use what I had learned, and so a pleasant and profitable summer 
was passed. When school opened in the fall, my record was so good that I 
was promoted to a grade which would allow me to enter the training-school 
for nurses, and it was here that I became better acquainted with Samuel 
Tuttle, a Sioux Indian, who was the pupil of Mrs. Vaughan when she had 
charge of an Indian school in Minnesota. At that time he was known by 
his Indian name ; but afterward, Bishop Whipple, who took a great interest 
in him, gave him the name Samuel Tuttle, after a deceased class-mate. He, 
with other medical students, gave lectures before the class of nurses, and this 
was the beginning of a friendship which now means everything to me. At 
the close of the second year I was sent to Philadelphia to work in a hospital, 
and through this not only practiced work in my chosen profession, but had 
an opportunity to see in reality that which I had only seen the shadow of in 
the old leather trunk. I had carried in my mind the street and number of 
tne house and had no trouble in finding it, and oh ! everything was so much 
prettier than the picture that I wondered how my father could leave such a 
home. An old Quaker lady lived in the house adjoining and the nurse who 
was taking care of her was my friend, and through her I learned things about 
my father that make me very sad. 

"In 1897, having completed the course and holding a graduate's cer- 
tificate, or that which signifies the same, I was given charge of a ward as 
head-nurse in the Good Samaritan Hospital in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, with 
an opportunity to study medicine in a night class. When the Spanish War 
came on and nurses were needed, I was selected to go to Tampa, Florida, 
under the Red Cross Society, and I am glad to tell you that, notwithstanding 
my dark skin, I was given one of the most responsible positions and was 
treated by all with kindness and consideration. In 1899, I made a visit to the 
old home, but what I saw and heard filled me with sorrow. My father had 
nearly lost his mind and seemed to care little for me or anyone else. I 
wanted so to tell him of my visit to his old home, but could not interest him 
in anything, and so did not do it. My mother was sitting upon the ground, as 
of old, and seemed to have changed very little. Felipe had a position in a 

143 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



shop in San Dieijo and was doing well. His four years' course at Carlisle 
had been a great advantage to him. Of the other boys who went with us to 
Carlisle. I could learn nothing, except from Juan, who is married and has 
settled in the San Jacinto Valley. My sisters, Chica and Eletha were also 
married and living on the reservation. The school had then two teachers 
and was sending a student or two every year to Carlisle or IIam])t()n. I 
returned to my position in Pittsburg and remained until 1900, when I was 
married to Dr. Samuel Tuttle, who was then a physician on his old reservation 
in ^linnesota. For the past two years we have been traveling from reserva- 
tion to reservation, looking after the welfare of our people and occasionally 
giving a lecture in the large cities. We are appointed by the Government 
and are paid liberally for our work. My life with such a companion as my 
husband can not be other than happy, for, while only an Indian, he is one of 
Nature's noblemen. 

"1 have more to tell you when I see you. 

"Your friend, Dolores." 




^nec6ote5 of tl)elfR6ian5 

Elsinore Club. 

T has been said of the Indians for many years. "All good Indians 
are dead." I can say from personal observation that it is not 
true. There are those in many tribes whom it will not do to 
trust; but we can say that of white people. In their primitive 
liDmes, the family from the old, white-haired grandmother, 
down to the papoose strapped to the little mat. are jolly and 
full of wit. 

Having lived among three tribes, I had opportunities to 
learn tlieir ways of living. The Papagoes were a quiet, self-supporting tribe, 
industrious and neat as far as they knew how. Most of them were living in 
houses and the children attended school. 

The Pinnos are the most civilized tribe, and yet many of the old members 
of the tribe can be seen clad only in comice and gee-string. 

Many of the boys in school were married, and when Friday afternoon 
came and they would return home, the squaw would meet her husband with 
the Indian pony ; and, when they returned, the buck rode the pony while the 
squaw walked. 

They often go from village to village. It is customary for the woman to 
carry a load on her back large enough for a small spring-wagon. l)ut they go 
on a dog-trot, never looking right or left : the men come along on the ponies, 
but all seem contented. 

When they first enter school it is very hard to get them to take to our 
dress, especially the underclothing. The girls, as well as the boys, are good 
lo'oking and learn rapidly. 

The religion is varied in the different tribes. If they have lived good, 
religious lives, they are buried in the grave-yard; if not, the bodies are rolled 
in many cloths and laid at the foot of the mountain and stones are rolled down 
imtil the body is covered. 

On Sunday they come to hear the missionary, and it is rather amusing 
to see them in their usual dress, with the modern dress on their arms. When 



144 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



the ravine is reached, the skirt, waist and shoes are put on and worn during 
church hour. Those who have attended school join in the singing. Gambling 
is one of their chief amusements ; the squaw with her few yards of calico of 
brightest colors and strings of beads, and the buck with his Indian pony and 
fat steer. Everything is put in sight of the gamblers, and at the end of the 
game, without noise or confusion, they take their shares and all go to their 
villages as jolly as can be. 

They have their own medicine-man, and he is given his knowledge by 
"a little bird." They are great believers in counter-irritants. When an epi- 
demic occurs, sacrifices of various animals are made, and even one of the 
tribe may be killed as the one doing the harm. They are very glad to have 
a regular physician, and if his medicine gives the desired effect, the whole 
tribe want to try it. 

It is a matter of history that for hundreds of years no white man has been 
killed by a Papago Indian. Their traditions are handed down from generation 
to generation. 

I will close with the description of the burial of a little girl. Mourners 
were hired and a tom-tom used. This is an instrument made of gourds. The 
more mourners and noise the more the relatives must pay. The child was 
carried on the back of the poor old grandmother, if there is one — if not, the 
next oldest woman of the family. She must have been punished in some way 
and her hair cut close in hopes of appeasing the sufferings of the child. 

The grave is four feet deep, with the little case at the bottom neatly lined 
with bright calico. In it is all the earthen-ware the child had owned ; some 
filled with penochi, a flour made of parched wheat. 

After all is arranged, the child is placed in the case and covered with more 
bright calico. Again the noise starts up and, while the men fill the grave 
with arrow-weed and cacti, the moans continue. When filled and covered, 
they feel that it will keep the whites away. 



M5 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




CLIFF DWELLERS. 

The Colorado Cliff Dwellings Association was organized some dozen years 
ago in Colorado for the purpose of preserving the cliff and pueblo ruins on Mesa 
Verde of Colorado. The California Chapter was established November 6, 1905, 
at the home of Mrs. A. J. Eaton, Los Angeles, by Mrs. Charles Nelson Green, a 
vice-regent of the National Association. This chapter is in a flourishing condi- 
tion and this year has published a unique programme, which includes the papers 
on geology^ and ancient history. 



146 



Historic Facts and Fancies 



IKab-le-Kab (^lue Cakes) 

Indian History. 
Saturday Afternoon Club. 

Explanatory.— In the early settlement by the whites of Ukiah and Potter Valleys, there 
were many rumors of a monster that inhabited the water of Blue Lakes. 

The Indians believed implicitly in the "Cog-och" (water-monster), and to this was 
added the reports of hunters, who had obtained a glimpse of an "immense serpent," or 
"huge, indescribable body." swiftly coursing the water. So frequent were these reports, on 
such seemingly good authority, that even the most incredulous wondered "just what it could 
be." Some watched for hours and were rewarded with a glimpse of a large, dark body, with 
a size and shape that varied according to the vision or imagination of the beholder. A 
hunter was passing on the trail that led along the mountainside, above the lake, when his 
horse lost its footing and rolled down the steep incline into the water, the rider barely 
saving himself by catching on to some brush. The horse passed immediately from sight, 
and it was conjectured that this was due to the "Monster of the Lake," and the hunter, 
fearing the creature might be amphibious, lost no time in getting to the other side of the ridge. 

After some years, by comparing notes, it was learned that the appearance of the monster 
was at a certain "time of the year; then a more careful observation cleared away the mystery, 
and demonstrated that the disturbance of the water was due to the rapid passage of a shoal 
of tish. 

Those of the present day, who have witnessed the phenomenon, are very lenient in their 
criticisms of the credulity of the old settlers. 

HIEF Cha-bal-la and his people were made the fortunate owners 
of Kah-le-kah at the time of their creation. In time, they became 
wealthy in skins, beads, and baskets. This was not because they 
were less indolent or less improvident than others, but on account 
of Nature's abundant supply of all their needs. With affluence, 
came a lack of sociability and indifference toward other tribes. 
This engendered a feeling of jealousy among the less fortunate 
ones, which resulted in nothing more serious than standing aloof 
from the inhabitants of Kah-le-kah and calling them "Ba-ha-ma" (bad people). 

Cha-bal-la was the father of three sons ; two of them, tiring of isolation and 
familiar scenes, and longing for adventure, stealthily left home without the 
knowledge or consent of their illustrious father, and journeyed a long way to 
the south (Berriesse Valley), regardless of danger from hostile tribes and wild 
animals that infested the mountains. 

One day, while reconnoitering from 'the shelter of some chaparral, they 
espied, in a little valley near by. two young women filling their baskets with 
fresh-picked clover; this being their part of the work of preparation for the 
great Feast of Cha-de-evil (the ceremony of chasing the devil, which occurs 
once in seven years). By imitating the notes of rare, wild birds, the wily sons 
of Cha-bal-la lured the maidens from their pleasant occupation, and were suc- 
cessful in carrying their captives to Kah-le-kah. The old chief made no serious 
objections to receiving them as his daughters, and they in turn were dutiful and 
became strongly attached to their husbands and compulsory relatives. 

When the young women failed to return with their baskets of clover, a great 
fear fell upon the tribe. Cha-de-evil was accredited with spiriting them away. 
The ceremony and clover feast were abandoned in superstitious alarm, and for 
three days they did not venture outside their little huts, and cried incessantly 
to the Devil to bring them no more disaster. (Indians believing the Coyote — 
God — to be always their friend, offer no supplications to him, but cry to Cha-de- 
evil or any evil spirit that they imagine is plotting to injure them.) 

147 




Historic Facts and Fancies 



Ki-i (the Crow) carried information to the tribe of the whereabouts of the 
women, but before starting- on the journey, he took the precaution to pluck a 
feather from his win^^ to mark the locahty. The feather fell into a little spring 
and, floating out on the clear, cold water, was carried to the lake, gradually 
assuming on its way a hideous shape that was evermore to be the enemy of man. 

Cha-bal-la. being a very just man, sent of his stores what w'as deemed an 
equivalent for the women. The gift was accejited, but such unfriendlv demon- 
strations followed that he again sent valuable presents, which were received as 
before ; still, the results were alike unsatisfactorv. 

During the intervening time, calamity after calamity befell the Ba-ha-mas, 
and when the women of the tribe began to disappear, the chief was so grieved 
and alarmed that he refused to eat the pinola that was temptingly placed before 
him, and waved away the pipe that had been smoked so many years in the 
security of his mountain-encircled home. Whither the women went, or bv what 
means they were spirited away, was a deep, dark mystery that Cha-bal-la and 
his people could not solve. Their numbers were daily decimated, and the most 
heart-rending cries told of the loss of each additional victim. While Cha-bal-la 
fasted, he cried continuously to Cha-de-evil, beseeching him to bring no more 
sorrow to the tribe and to spare their women. 

Whether he acted upon a suggestion from Cha-de-evil to return his sons' 
wives to their friends, or whether from cowardice or a sense of injustice, may 
never be known, but he finally ordered his sons to return their wives to their 
own tribes. The husbands did not dare to oppose the wishes of their father, and 
so prepared to accompany their wives on the journey. The chief sent them in 
charge of his youngest son, wdio was called Cha-bal-la-ko (Second Cha-bal-la). 
The journey was made in safety, and, for a time, Cha-bal-la-ko was kept a 
prisoner, but finally succeeded in making his escape and reached home in time 
to apprise his father of the approach of his relentless enemy, who were coming to 
battle with Cha-bal-la's tribe. 

Cha-bal-la had little time to prepare any defense, and having no knowledge 
whatever of warfare, and being weak and dispirited, he fell an easy victim. The 
entire tribe, wath the exception of Cha-bal-la-ko, was exterminated. Those who 
did not fall by the deadly arrow sought refuge in the lake and were quickly 
dragged to the mossy depths, over which presides the monster Cog-och (Water- 
Ghoul). Cha-bal-la-ko escaped across the mountains to the land of Be-lo-ki 
(Potter \'alley), and, claiming the protection of the Pomos, was, with many 
misgivings, allowed to remain. 

Being of a jovial, fun-loving disposition, he won the favor of the tribe, and 
was their chosen chief at the time some Spaniards took their stock into the valley 
to graze. After this, he dropped the title of chief and the euphonious name of 
his fathers, and when Be-lo-ki, by settlement of the whites, became Potter \'alley, 
Cha-bal-la was transformed ino "Captain John." He received every kindness 
from one of the first white families that invaded his country, and, becoming very 
much attached to them, adopted their name (this became an Indian custom), and 
was ever after known as Captain John Menhinney. Throughout the rest of his 
life he was a staunch friend of the writer, who is a member of this family. 

In the Indian mind, there is still a cloud of superstitious mystery hanging 
darkly over the Kah-le-kah, and never, since the time of the Ba-ha-mas, has an 
Indian dared to live in this beautiful spot, or take a solitary walk within sight 
of its blue waters. 



148 



Historic Facts and Fancies 




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